


Sunrise

by Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness



Series: New Beginnings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Bottom!Lucifer, Bottom!Sam, Chuck's a+ parenting, Graphic Violence, Homophobia on the part of a character, Hurt/Comfort, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Major self esteem issues, Samifer - Freeform, Sex worker Lucifer, Statutory Rape Mention, Top!Sam, Zachariah is the biggest dick that ever dicked and that's including Dick Roman, top!Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness/pseuds/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness
Summary: AU without hunting where Mary didn't die and Sam has had a good life.  An all-too-human Lucifer, however, had a very different upbringing.





	1. Chance meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrs_SimonTam_PHD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/gifts).



> This chapter contains violence and homophobia on the part of a character. 
> 
> This fic is a gift for Mrs_SimonTam_PHD, whose stories I have enjoyed greatly since arriving at AO3. I hope you like it; I know you're picky about your fics, but since I maded some Samifer and didn't eated it, I had to share it with you :). 
> 
> Constructive criticism and comments are welcomed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to Lucifer's rescue.

Sam Winchester swore loudly as the gas light came on in his Tesla Model S. He had been vacationing in Yosemite National Park, and was currently headed back to his home on the outskirts of Oakland, California. Unfortunately, he was going to have to stop in an area of Oakland with a _much_ higher crime rate for gas. While he was a large, imposing man and didn't think he'd be directly accosted, there was still a chance someone might pull a gun on him, especially since he looked (and was) fairly wealthy. 

There was nothing to be done about it, however, so he pulled off of the interstate and into the first truck stop he saw. There were plenty of lights at this one, at least, and even though it was late on a Friday night, the place seemed busy. Sam hoped that would be enough to deter any would-be criminals. 

He zoned out a bit as he filled his tank, thinking about the new cases he'd start at the firm on Monday. The one that intrigued him the most was a medical malpractice suit where a doctor had refused to prescribe a woman with a hormonal imbalance birth control. She'd ended up in the emergency room with multiple burst cysts in her right ovary. Yes, that was definitely an interesting one, but he would have to do some research this weekend on the condition she had (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and the current recognized treatments for the disorder.

As Sam placed the nozzle back on the pump, his stomach did a small flip. _Shit, I shouldn't have eaten that burrito_ , he mused before considering his options. Home was close, but not /that/ close. On the other hand, a truck stop bathroom... His stomach did a second, less pleasant flip, and he sighed, locked his car, and started walking toward the back of the truck stop, shaking his chestnut-colored hair out of his face as he walked. _I really need to get a haircut soon,_ he reminded himself, before he realized he should probably pay more attention to his surroundings given where he was. 

As Sam walked, he noticed several female sex workers leaning against the side wall of the building. A few offered to show him a good time, but he just smiled and shook his head. He was a relatively new lawyer and couldn't afford to be picked up in a sting, but more importantly, he was attractive enough to not /need/ to pay for sex when he wanted it. Indeed, from the looks on their faces, several of the ladies along the wall would have been happy to give him a freebie. 

Sam made his way around the corner, pavement giving way to a pitted gravel lot. There were mud puddles everywhere; it hadn't rained in Yosemite, but it had clearly rained here--quite a lot, judging by the quantity of mud. Sam spent a moment or two making sure he wasn't going to slip and fall before looking up to locate the door of the men's room. As he took a step in its direction, he focused on the two figures in front of the door. Both were men, but one was a little taller than the other. The shorter man looked like a stereotypical trucker, complete with a baseball hat, work boots, and a scraggly beard. The other, despite the winter and the evening chill, was wearing a fishnet tank-top and short black shorts that left little to the imagination, plus cowboy boots. 'Male prostitute,' Sam's brain supplied in the half-second of rational thought he had left to him. 

"Fucking faggot!" the shorter man roared. His sudden roundhouse punch caught the taller man right on his chin, and he went right down into the mud, even going so far as to roll a couple of times before coming to a stop. Either he had a glass chin, or the trucker had somehow hit him /just/ right. Or both. "How dare you!" The trucker stomped over to the prone figure and proceeded to kick him as hard as he could in the side with his steel-toed boots. 

He wound up to kick the fallen man a second time, but Sam had already closed the gap between them and thrown his arms around the trucker in order to begin bodily hauling him backwards. "Stop it!" Sam yelled--at this point, right in the trucker's ear, more or less. "Get off him!"

"What the fuck?" The trucker struggled for a few moments in Sam's arms, but once Sam had put a few feet of distance between them and the man on the ground, he released the trucker, who whirled around to face the new threat. "Who the fuck are you?" the trucker demanded, his face so red it looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. His fists were clenched, but apparently Sam didn't look stereotypically gay enough to warrant being punched--yet. 

"I'm a lawyer. Witnessing an assault and battery in progress and preventing it from escalating," Sam replied, using his best courtroom voice. "If you'll just wait here a moment," he added, pulling his phone from his pocket, "I'll call the police and report the altercation." He knew, of course, that getting the police involved was probably the last thing the male sex worker wanted, but he was hoping that the trucker wouldn't realize it. 

"No--what? No!" the trucker sputtered. "The fucker propositioned me! Me! I ain't no faggot!"

"Mmm," replied Sam, finally feeling secure enough to glance over towards the fallen man. Thankfully, the male sex worker was in the process of climbing to his feet, albeit slowly. He was completely drenched in mud. "I'd actually advise against you using the gay panic defense in Oakland, California, of all places. You wouldn't punch a street vendor if they offered you food, and you shouldn't punch a sex worker for offering you sex. I'll tell you what. You go, now, and you might be gone by the time the police arrive." With that, he began hitting numbers on his phone randomly, but purposefully; hopefully he wouldn't have to actually hit dial, as he had no idea what the local police number was. 

The trucker gaped at Sam like a fish for a few moments before slowly closing his mouth and looking around. Any potential witnesses had decided to mind their own business and left the area, leaving the three men alone behind the truck stop. To the trucker, that meant two to one--or at least one and a half to one--odds, plus the threat of the police. If he'd been drunk, he probably would've rushed Sam--but he wasn't. "Fucking faggot lover," he snarled, before spitting at Sam's feet. That done, he turned around and stalked off. 

Sam slowly let out a breath. He might look as if he could hold his own in a fight, and perhaps he could have under other *ahem* circumstances, but aspiring lawyers that come from happy families have little need to learn how to fight properly. Instead, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and watched the trucker walk back around the corner. 

Once he was certain the trucker wasn't coming back, Sam turned and walked over to the injured man, who was now upright but was swaying slightly and clutching one hand to his chest. "Are you okay?" Sam blurted out before mentally kicking himself. Of course the guy wasn't all right; he was absolutely covered in mud, there was blood dripping from the hand he was holding to himself, and...whoops. Apparently the shorts had been made of something altogether too...rippable. There was a rather large hole in the front. "Um," Sam stammered. "Um, your, uh, here," he pointed toward the wardrobe malfunction while keeping his eyes on those of the other man, and then pulled his overshirt off and held it out to the man. _That piercing must have hurt like a bitch,_ he thought to himself. Only then did he really recall the dripping blood. "Oh, god, your hand. Did you cut yourself? It was probably a broken bottle," he continued to babble. "Um, here, you can use this...for your hand, I mean," he added, now stripping out of his undershirt and holding it out as well. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No," was the first word the sex worker managed to get in edgewise. The man, who was only a little shorter than Sam, had taken a moment to tuck the first shirt into the waistband of the shorts, which was still blessedly intact. It gave him a skirt of sorts which at least covered the essentials. "No, I'm all right," he replied automatically, despite the blood that was now steadily soaking Sam's undershirt. He took a few deep breaths, and tried to assess himself. He hadn't heard a crack when he'd been kicked, so his ribs were probably only bruised. His hand was cut badly, but he'd had worse. His knees and one of his elbows were skinned, but again. He'd had worse. Much worse. Assessment done, he realized that he was completely ignoring the... _Holy shit,_ he thought, as he finally got a good look at his now-shirtless rescuer. His /mouthwatering/ shirtless rescuer. That chest seemed to go on forever, and those eyes... He couldn't tell exactly what color they were in the low light, but /still/. Damn. Shaking his head--and accidentally spattering Sam with a bit of mud--he remembered what he'd been trying to do before the sight of his rescuer had stolen every coherent thought from his brain. "Thank you," he finally managed. "If you hadn't come around the corner when you did..." Adrenaline--or the cold, he wasn't sure--kicked in, and he began shaking. "I'm Lucifer," he added, after a beat. 

"Sam," Sam replied, looking more comfortable now that certain pierced bits of anatomy were no longer easily visible. Now he was closer, though, he was starting to suspect that 'Lucifer's' (he was sure that was a working name) nipples were pierced, as well. "Are you sure you're okay? I could take you to a clinic if you don't want to go to the ER. Or back to your house, or wherever you want. Assuming you don't have a car," he added belatedly, embarrassed for assuming Lucifer was too poor to afford a car. Sam was beginning to have serious concerns about the man in front of him, which mounted further when he saw Lucifer start to shiver and when Sam noticed how emaciated he looked. Sam briefly considered that the man in front of him did drugs, but he seemed sober enough, and Sam was willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.

"No, no car but... Shit. Zachariah's going to kill me," Lucifer muttered, looking down at himself. At least his phone, which was stuffed in one of his boots, was probably still working. "I'll be fine," he insisted, forcing a bit of false cheer into his voice. "I can clean up in the bathroom here and then go back to work. Maybe the shirt skirt will become a new fashion trend." He didn't meet Sam's eyes as he spoke, though he didn't seem especially embarrassed when referencing his work, either. 

"I really think you should take the rest of the night off, man," Sam replied, frowning down at Lucifer. "Besides, if you go out front in that thing, you're liable to be arrested for indecent exposure." _In addition to prostitution,_ his brain supplied.

Shaking his head and looking nervously over his shoulder, Lucifer started to wet his lips and then thought better of it when his tongue encountered the mud covering his face. "I can't. I need the money," he admitted with a shrug. "And Friday is usually a good night."

Sam spent a moment staring at Lucifer, still frowning. "Not to get too personal," he said finally, "but how much would you normally make?"

"Normally?" Lucifer was now studying the mud puddle in front of him. He shrugged again. "Maybe $500?" Mentally, he slapped himself for adding the question mark at the end, and then again for being honest rather than quoting a larger-than-normal amount. Thank goodness Zachariah wasn't here to hear him.

"Okay. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take you home so you can at least get that cut cleaned up and borrow some clothes." _And get you warmed up and get some food in you, 'Lucifer,'_ Sam added mentally. "Then I'll pay you $500 /for your time/," the emphasis serving to indicate that he wasn't paying for sex, "and bring you back here. You get the money you would have made, and I get a clean conscience. Seriously, man, I can't leave you here wet and bloody and shivering. If you won't do that, at /least/ get in my car for a little while and get warm." He followed his little speech with his best puppy dog look, the one that always worked on his parents and Dean.

Lucifer knew he should say no, knew that Zachariah would be furious. But...Zach didn't need to know that he'd spent any time taking care of himself, not if he brought home enough money to make it look as if he'd been working the entire time. Besides, he looked right up into those puppy dog eyes, and there was no way he could say no now. "Are you sure?" he asked after a few moments. "I promise I'll clean up fast, and then we can spend some...time...together." It didn't even cross his mind that maybe Sam was offering to take him home, clean him up, and then pay him for his time without taking advantage of Lucifer's services. In Lucifer's experience, everyone always demanded their pound of flesh eventually. This time, though, he thought, eyeing Sam's broad chest again, maybe he wouldn't mind as much when the bill came due.

Sam nodded, a huge smile breaking out on his face that made him look even more puppy-like. "Okay," he said. "Stay right here, I'll go get my car." With that, he turned and walked back the way he had come. Luckily for him, the suspicious burrito issue appeared to have resolved itself peacefully. 

Lucifer watched him go, wondering if Sam would actually come back like he said, before pulling his phone out of his boot and texting Zachariah. As predicted, the small flip phone was intact and working. "All nighter at a friend's house." He figured the meaning of the text would be obvious if he got busted, but at least he could /argue/ that he was just texting his boyfriend to let him know he wouldn't be home until morning. That done, he leaned back against the wall. As the adrenaline wore off, his aches and pains--both those from his encounter earlier tonight and those that were there before--became more insistent. He also began to shiver more violently; he hadn't eaten for a couple of days and he seemed to not be able to keep his body temperature constant. The mud, of course, wasn't helping anything. 

Sam pulled up a few moments later, and Lucifer's eyes widened again. He wasn't a car expert or anything, but that looked like an expensive one. There was no way his mud-covered self belonged in it. Sam got out of the driver's seat, and seemed to realize what Lucifer was thinking. "It's okay, I have a bunch of beach towels I put down. You can't ruin them," he assured Lucifer, before taking his arm and gently leading him toward the passenger door. Sam opened it, and sure enough, the front passenger seat was covered in towels. Lucifer half-shuffled, half-fell inside, and Sam helped him find the belt and buckle under the towels and buckle himself in before Sam walked back around the car and slid into the driver's seat. "My house isn't too far," he said, cranking first the heat and then the music up. That done, he made a U-turn and made his way out of the gas station and back onto the interstate. Lucifer figured he should be worried about how much it would cost to get an Uber back, but he could always hitch-hike...and besides, Sam seemed like a good guy; he might pay for the Uber driver as well. With that, Lucifer closed his eyes and relaxed into the warmth.


	2. Before-care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam cares for Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm so wordy. A planned two chapters has already become four... Fair warning, there may be more than six chapters to go.

Sam pulled up in front of his house and shut off the car. He was pretty sure Lucifer was asleep--at least, he hoped that he was asleep and not unconcious. Sam reached out and set his hand on Lucifer's shoulder before gently shaking the other man. "Hey. Wake up. We're here," he said. 

As Lucifer opened his eyes, some of the dried mud around them fell down onto his chest. "Hmm? Oh, okay," he replied. Stirring himself, he managed to unbuckle his seat belt and open the car door with his good hand. Before he could attempt to haul himself out, however, Sam had already come around the car to offer help. Between the two of them, they managed to get Lucifer back on his feet and tottering toward the door. His hand had apparently stopped bleeding and he wasn't shivering anymore, but it was also clear that he still wasn't feeling especially well as Sam led him up to the porch. As Sam was unlocking the door, Lucifer leaned against the wall and somehow managed to slide out of his cowboy boots. The front porch was covered, so he followed those with his socks, and left his phone in one of the boots. He didn't think anyone would steal them in this neighborhood, which even his fog-filled, headachy brain recognized as well-to-do. 

"Come on in," Sam said, before offering his arm for support. Lucifer took it and followed Sam into the rather large house. Lucifer was used to being taken to places that were much nicer than the one-bedroom apartment he shared with Zach, but this house was several orders of magnitude above that. Here he was, filthy and worthless, standing in a foyer that actually deserved the fancy name 'foyer.' From what he could see so far, the home was open, spacious, and tastefully decorated, mostly in various shades of blue and white. 

"The bedrooms with bathrooms are upstairs," Sam interrupted Lucifer's reverie. "I'll show you one and then bring the first aid kit for your hand and we can decide what to do about it. Hopefully it won't need stitches." Sam started up the stairs to the right of the foyer, but paused when he realized Lucifer wasn't following.

"I can't go up there," Lucifer protested. "It's too clean! Do you have a hose out back or something?"

Sam scoffed. "Hose water isn't safe for your cut. And as for the stairs, well, Jo will just have some extra work to do. I'm sure she'll appreciate the extra hours. Now, come on." He reached out a hand, back down the steps. 

Reluctantly, Lucifer shuffled over and grasped Sam's hand with his good one before following him up the stairs, wincing every time a large clod of dried mud fell off of him and onto the floor. Sam led him into the first door on the right of the hallway, which turned out to contain what was obviously a guest room--it had all the required furnishings, including a queen-sized bed, but also hadn't been used in a while. Some of the furniture was even draped. Sam led Lucifer through the room and into the adjoining bathroom. "The two guest rooms share this bathroom," he explained, gesturing to a room that, quite frankly, was probably larger than Lucifer's entire apartment. There was a large bathtub, in addition to a toilet and two sinks in a counter that seemed to be much longer than it needed to be. "You can wash your hand there," Sam said, indicating one of the sinks before turning to leave. "I'll get the first aid kit. Once we make sure you're not still bleeding, you can take a bath or a shower. There's still soap and shampoo in there from when my brother visited, and the towels and washcloths are in the cupboard over there." 

Sam heard the water in the sink turn on behind him, as he went to get the first aid kit from the bathroom in the master bedroom. For once, he walked in and out without pausing to admire the beautiful painting over the bed that he'd recently purchased--a slightly impressionistic take on a sunrise over a clear, still lake, with trees in the background. The roses and peach colors in the sky in the middle of the painting faded to a beautiful purplish-blue color at the edges. Sam had fallen in love with it the instant he had seen it in an Oakland gallery, and had brought it home with the help of a bonus he received from the law firm he was trying to make partner at. 

Sam briefly knocked on the door of the room he'd left Lucifer in before he walked in, carrying the kit. It was rather more extensive than one you might find at a store, given the number of times his brother had gotten into a bar brawl while visiting and had to be patched up. "Hey," he said, upon locating Lucifer in the bathrooom, running his left hand under the water. "How's it looking?"

"It's stopped bleeding," Lucifer replied, glancing back at Sam before looking away. Sam's chest was even -more- impressive in the light, and Lucifer found himself imagining running his hands all over it. But he had a boyfriend, and Zach, while completely fine with him fucking other people for money, would be livid if he actually thought Lucifer enjoyed himself. So, Lucifer just silently held his hand up for Sam's inspection.

Sam hissed in sympathy as he took the other man's hand and examined the cut carefully. "Well, I don't see anything still in the wound," he said, "And if it's stopped bleeding, you can probably get away without stitches. We'll have to put some alcohol on it to make sure it doesn't get infected and then wrap it in some clean bandages. That might as well wait until after your bath. I'll get some clean clothes you can borrow and leave them on the bed for you," he added, gesturing toward said piece of furniture. "I'll take the first aid kit and wait for you downstairs in the dining room--that's the room past the living room on the right as you go down the stairs. But take your time. And shout if you need anything, anything at all. Okay?"

Lucifer was still a little out of it, but he nodded at Sam as the stunning man with the chestnut hair left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sam then left the room and headed back to the master bedroom, where he located a pair of boxers, followed by a pair of black sweatpants. Sam figured the pants would help Lucifer stay warm, even if they probably wouldn't do much to help him attract clients. He added a plain white T-shirt and then, on impulse, a grey hoodie from his laundry hamper, the only thing he could think of to add some extra warmth to the ensemble. It wasn't clean, but he'd only worn it once before tossing it in the hamper. Finally, he dug around in his bathroom until he found the free toothbrush and toothpaste he had gotten the last time he was at the dentist's, and added those to the bundle of clothes.

Sam walked back down the hall and placed the clothes on the bed before leaving the room and closing that door behind him as well. Grabbing the first aid kit from where he'd left it on a side table in the hallway, he went downstairs and made a detour to his office before heading to the kitchen. Sam was a terrible cook, but he had hired Ellen Harvelle to do it for him--and she always kept a container of chicken soup in the freezer, should he get sick. He figured that the soup would be easy for Lucifer to digest, so he dumped it into a large bowl, stuck the bowl in the microwave, and pressed the buttons that would make it heat the soup up. He poured himself some fiber-filled cereal and set that on the table in the dining room, along with $500 in cash and the first aid kit. He was hoping that Lucifer would stay the night and get both some food and some sleep, but he also didn't want to make the other man feel as if he was unable to leave.

When Lucifer came downstairs, he was dressed in the clothes he'd found on the bed and holding what was left of what he'd been wearing; he set it down next to the doorway so he could pick them up on his way out. Sam's clothes didn't fit him perfectly, but they didn't look too awkward on him, either. The hoodie was open, showing off the fact that Sam's shirt was rather tight across Lucifer's chest--and he had been right, Lucifer did have nipple piercings. 

Sam barely noticed the telltale bumps in the fabric, however, as Lucifer walked into the kitchen. This was the first time he'd seen Lucifer without the rather unflattering coat of mud. Lucifer was /hot/, with dirty blonde hair that was slicked down from his bath and blue eyes that Sam could've sworn faded into a lavender color around the edges. His nose and ears were pierced, and sporting simple silver studs. He even looked great in sweatpants, and Sam's mouth went dry. He had to clear his throat before he could gesture at the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and cup of hot tea on the table across from where he was sitting. "I warmed you up some soup," he said as he stood up from his own bowl of cereal and walked around the table. "Go ahead and start eating. I can bandage your hand while you're doing that." 

Lucifer really wanted to say no--he didn't want to be more in debt to this man than he already was--but his stomach rumbled loudly in response to the smell of the soup and he couldn't help but sit down in front of the bowl. "Did you make this?" he marvelled, holding one hand out to Sam and picking up the spoon with the other. "You didn't have to. But thank you."

Sam snorted. "No. I burn water if I try to cook. The woman who cooks for me--Ellen--always leaves some chicken soup in the freezer in case I get sick. I just heated it up." He took Lucifer's hand and inspected it again before holding up the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "This is going to hurt," he warned, pulling on Lucifer's hand until it was hovering over a clean towel. 

Lucifer swallowed some soup before nodding at Sam to go ahead. He grit his teeth at the sting of the alcohol before exhaling in a hiss. "All done," Sam told him, before drying off his hand with the towel and then rubbing some bacitracin into the cut. "Just need to wrap it up." He followed words with deeds, carefully wrapping Lucifer's hand with gauze before tying it off. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to stare down at Lucifer, and found himself liking most of what he was seeing, although in addition to the bruise forming on his chin, he had hand-shaped bruises around his neck, and it almost looked as if he had a fading bruise around his right eye. Sam forebore to comment on the old bruises, however. "Do you want an ice pack for your chin?"

As Sam worked, Lucifer was doing his best to not inhale the soup as fast as his body seemed to want him to. "No, thanks," he replied, and Sam nodded and walked back around the table to sit in front of his bowl of cereal. Forcing himself to set his spoon down for a moment (onto a fancy cloth napkin, no less), Lucifer reached for the steaming mug in front of him. While he knew better than to accept a drink from a client that he hadn't seen prepared, he found himself trusting Sam. After all, Sam had had plenty of chances to hurt him or to take what little he had if Sam had wanted. Once Lucifer realized that the tea was mint, his favorite, he couldn't help but take a long draught. "God," he said, looking over to Sam, who was watching him. "This is--thank you. Again. You didn't have to do all of this. But I promise, I'll make it up to you later," he said, adding a flirty wink despite his pain and a haze of exhaustion. 

"Actually," replied Sam, "You don't have to. I meant it when I said I was only paying you for your time. You can take the money and leave whenever you want--I'll drive you back to the truck stop, or if you want I can call you an Uber. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right. I'd like for you to stay here and get some sleep tonight so you can rest up from that fight, but if you don't want to, I understand."

Lucifer tensed slightly as Sam spoke. From what Sam was saying, he thought he knew where this conversation was going, and why Sam wasn't interested in having sex with him. "Shit. Are you a Jesus freak?" he asked. "Gonna lecture me about my wicked ways and how if I pray enough, God will make me straight?"

"What? No!" Sam scoffed and shook his head. "I mean, I'm spiritual, sure, but not /religious/. I'm not straight either--I'm bi, and I have nothing against sex work. I wish they'd legalize it so that sex workers would face fewer of the kinds of things that you just went through. You're hot," he admitted, cheeks coloring slightly, "But it doesn't feel right to sleep with someone whom I saw knocked unconscious earlier in the evening. Finish your soup, and then if you want, you can go get some rest. I'll drive you wherever you want to go, tonight or tomorrow morning, whichever you prefer." 

Lucifer was staring at Sam, his mouth wide open. No one in his thirty-odd years had ever been so kind to him without wanting /something/ in return. He knew he should go back to the truck stop and try to find some customers, but he was just so /sore/. His ribs protested every time he so much as moved his arms. "I..." he finally managed as a reply. "Okay, fine, I'll stay. But I'm not taking your money," he added, pointing his spoon at Sam's somewhat smug-looking face. "You're not paying me for nothing."

If anything, Sam looked even more smug when Lucifer finished his protest. Never argue with a lawyer. "Actually," he replied with a quick grin, "I'm paying you for time spent making me happy, aren't I? Well, taking care of you has made me happy. So, finish your soup and your tea and then go get some sleep; you can stay in the guest room. I'm not sure I could keep my hands off of you if we slept in the same bed. We can talk more about it in the morning," he added, forestalling additional protests with a raised hand. "I'll be down in the master bedroom if you need anything. Just come downstairs when you wake up and I'll see if I can't heat up breakfast without burning it." With that, he picked up his empty bowl and mug and walked into the kitchen to set them in the sink. "Is there anything else you need?"

Lucifer was speechless in the face of this onslaught, so he mutely shook his head. He couldn't believe Sam was trusting him--didn't he know that Lucifer could call a bunch of friends (assuming he had any besides Zach) and rob Sam blind if he were so inclined? And Sam had just left the $500 sitting out on the table. Sam was apparently unconcerned, however, as he disappeared upstairs, leaving Lucifer to finish his soup and put his own dishes away, which he did. He then grabbed a clean glass from a cupboard and filled it with water from the refrigerator. He took it upstairs with him as he made his way to the guest room, setting it down on the nightstand before shucking off the sweatpants and hoodie and climbing under the covers. His last thought before he fell asleep--less than a minute after he'd climbed into bed--was that he couldn't remember when he'd felt so cherished. And Sam didn't even know him.


	3. Here there be smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer gives Sam the best sort of thank-you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't supposed to be smut in this chapter, but Lucifer had other ideas. You can blame (or thank) him. 
> 
> Full disclosure: This is the first smut I've written, AND I'm Ace...so, uh, read it at your own risk. I apologize for...well, I should probably just apologize for the entire story, and that should cover everything!

The next morning, Lucifer woke with a start. He knew he wasn't in his own bed, so he must've fallen asleep with a client. He hoped they wouldn't be mad. Sitting up, he looked around, puzzled when he found no one lying next to him. Where was he? Only then did he slowly begin to remember the night before--being attacked, and then saved by an almost mythologically hot and kind man. He pulled off the T-shirt Sam had lent him, studying the new bruises forming on his side. They hurt, but he was feeling remarkably better after a meal and a good night's rest. 

He checked a clock hanging on the wall--he didn't have a watch, and his phone was still in his boot outside--and discovered it was early. He had always had a habit of waking up at dawn, no matter how exhausted he might be. Shrugging at his own strange habits, he went to use the guest bathroom. As he did, he came more fully awake and realized how much he owed Sam. Sam had been unbelievably kind and generous. He decided that, good arguments or not, he was going to pay Sam back. After all, he /was/ feeling better. 

So, Lucifer opened his door and made his way down the hallway to the obvious master bedroom door. He hesitated outside of it, however, his conviction evaporating. He didn't want to wake Sam up. He also didn't want to be creepy, and going in the room and watching Sam sleep definitely qualified. At the same time, Lucifer didn't want to give Sam any reason to say no, and he suspected that if Sam got a good look at his injuries in the light, he'd have reason enough. 

In the end, Lucifer waited outside the door until he heard rustling noises from within--which came earlier than he expected; apparently Sam was an early riser as well. Taking a deep breath, he knocked lightly, but still loud enough to be heard. There was a short pause, then he heard Sam call, "Come in," presumably after he had remembered he wasn't alone in the house. Lucifer slipped through the doorway, and then paused. The room was enormous, easily able to fit three huge beds, although it only had the one wooden four-poster. It was still dark in the room, so he could only really make out various tables and dressers and the fact that Sam was sitting up in the bed. "Lucifer? Do you want me to drive you home?" Sam asked in a sleep-roughened voice. 

"Not yet," Lucifer replied, softly closing the door behind him before walking over to the bed. Unabashedly, he climbed in and straddled Sam's lap before draping his arms around the other man's shoulders. "First I want to take care of you like you took care of me." 

Sam's arms rose automatically and arranged themselves on Lucifer's upper back, but before he did anything else, he asked, "Are you sure? You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything." Certain bits of his anatomy completely disagreed with his moral principles, but he had to be certain Lucifer wasn't just doing this because he thought he had to. 

"Yes," Lucifer replied, looking Sam straight in the eye. "I want this. Please."

Sam found he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Lucifer's. Lucifer's were rough, and he hadn't shaved, but Sam enjoyed the feeling of Lucifer's stubble rubbing against his own. After a few moments of chaste kissing, Sam licked across Lucifer's lips, and Lucifer quickly opened his mouth to let Sam in. Sam gently explored his mouth, which tasted of the peppermint-flavored toothpaste he had borrowed. Sam tried not to think about his own morning breath, but that wasn't a problem as he was rapidly losing the ability to think about anything but the beautiful man in his lap. 

Lucifer moaned into Sam's mouth as he returned Sam's kiss. He wasn't quite as gentle as Sam was, but Sam didn't seem to care; in fact, he placed his hand on the back of Lucifer's head to hold him in place. That form of mobility limited, Lucifer pressed his hips down into Sam's. The comforter and a blanket or two were still between them, but he didn't care--especially not when he heard the noise Sam made in response. Sam continued to devour Lucifer's mouth, while his free hand found its way to Lucifer's chest and began to tweak one of the barbell-shaped piercings he found there. Lucifer gasped and then broke the kiss. "Oh god," he panted, laying his head on Sam's shoulder. "Oh god." 

"Like that?" Sam chuckled before leaning Lucifer back a little so he could assault both nipples--one with his hand, and one with his mouth. His other moved down to Lucifer's lower back, giving him some additional support while carefully avoiding his bruised ribs. 

Lucifer threw his head back and moaned. "More, please, Sam," he gasped out. He wasn't used to this. Sure, some of his clients would play with his piercings, but it tended to be out of curiosity--or sadism, on the part of a few. And Zachariah...well, that was a whole other ball of wax. Sam seemed genuinely concerned about his partner's pleasure. 

Meanwhile, Sam was very much enjoying reducing Lucifer to a monosyllabic, begging wreck. He could see that Lucifer's pupils were dilated, and he wondered exactly what color the small ring around them was--he couldn't tell in the dim light. After a few more minutes of playing with Lucifer's piercings, Sam began to kiss his way up Lucifer's chest and neck until he arrived at his ear. Meanwhile, his hands slid around and down to cup and then squeeze Lucifer's ass. "You're so hot. How do you want to do this?" he asked, his voice low and husky. 

Lucifer's response was a whine and then a few pants. Sam pulled back until he could rest his forehead against Lucifer's, waiting for the other man to respond. "Can I--can I ride you?" Lucifer asked finally, nearly whining out the words. 

"Sure," Sam replied, grinning. "Need to get these off first," he added, tugging at the waistband of Lucifer's boxers. "Need lube and a condom, too. Get up for a second," he ordered, subconsciously using his courtroom voice. 

Lucifer immediately obeyed, climbing off of Sam and off the bed to stand beside it. "Yes Sir," he replied automatically. 

Sam had to laugh. "I didn't mean it like that," he replied, as he threw the blankets off of himself and then stood up next to Lucifer. He gave him a quick, chaste kiss before kneeling down, pulling Lucifer's boxers with him. "Nice," he complimented, as Lucifer sprang free. While he was on his knees, he gave Lucifer's hard length a nuzzle, then gently tugged on the captive ring he had seen earlier with one finger before standing back up.

Lucifer groaned, and blushed. He wasn't used to compliments. While he was actually of average size, he was convinced he was below-average. Admittedly, the tent Sam was making in his own boxers wasn't helping, because it was very clear that Sam was above-average. Hell, from what Lucifer could see, Sam looked like he could star in porn films. 

Sam turned to reach over and open a drawer in the nightstand, likely searching for the previously mentioned condoms and lube. Lucifer took the opportunity to step out of the boxers Sam had leant him and then help Sam out of his own boxers. He'd been right, even though Sam was half-turned toward the nightstand, he could see that Sam was easily the biggest man he'd ever been with. Lucifer couldn't help himself; as he stood back up, he reached out and stroked Sam, drawing a filthy moan from the other man as he turned back around to pass Lucifer a condom. 

Lucifer took the condom and waited until Sam had a bottle of lube and a towel in his hand and had turned back around to start his hands and lips on an exploration of Sam's chest--and yes, it was every bit as firm and muscular as he had suspected last night. 

Sam put his free arm around Lucifer, and walked them back toward the bed. "Fuck," he managed eloquently, before the backs of his legs hit the bed. "That feels so good, Luce." He sat down, then backed up until he was sitting in the middle of the bed. 

Lucifer quickly followed, capturing Sam's mouth with his own before reaching down to stroke Sam a few times and then expertly open the package and place the condom on Sam's cock. 

Sam leaned back to break the kiss and brandished the bottle of lube. His eyes were now lust-blown as well, and half-lidded. "Turn around, gorgeous. Let me get you nice and open for me." Lucifer replied with a whimpering noise, and obediently turned so he was facing away from Sam, then got up on his hands and knees to give Sam easier access. 

In no time at all, Sam's lube-covered fingers were inside Lucifer, drawing even more embarrassing noises from him as he gently stretched Lucifer open. Lucifer wasn't used to much prep at all, so it wasn't long before he was repeatedly panting, "I'm ready. That's enough. I'm okay." Sam apparently refused to take his word for it, however, as he added another finger and spent a few more minutes prepping him. Lucifer actually let out a sob when Sam found his prostate with those long fingers of his. 

Sam chuckled, and then withdrew his fingers. Lucifer wasted no time turning around and pushing Sam back so he was lying flat on the bed. He leaned over for a quick, sloppy kiss before sitting back up and grabbing Sam's covered length, slowly guiding it into himself as he let out a long moan. 

Sam let Lucifer go as slowly as he needed; he put his hands on Lucifer's thighs and started rubbing them, doing his best to not move his hips until Lucifer was ready. "You look so beautiful like this," he murmured. 

Lucifer finally bottomed out, but took an additional few moments to get used to Sam's length. "So full," he whimpered, before finally starting to move, thighs flexing as he moved up and down. 

Once Lucifer set the rhythm, Sam began bucking his hips up into the smaller man. "Fuck," he gasped again. "Don't know how long I'm going to last." It had been a while since he'd been with anyone, let alone someone he was this attracted to. Reaching out, he grasped Lucifer's length, and began sliding his still lube-covered fingers up and down it, flicking the captive ring each time he reached it. 

"Please," Lucifer begged, picking up the pace just a little, "Please, Sam, please." He had no warning--and thus gave Sam none--when he suddenly exploded all over Sam's hand, stomach, and chest. He gave a wordless shout, and his vision went blissfully black for a few moments. 

Sam kept stroking Lucifer until he was spent before reaching out to wipe his hand off on a towel he'd grabbed along with the lube. "I'm close," he managed to gasp, continuing to rock his hips up into Lucifer until he grasped said hips tightly and filled the condom. He relaxed bonelessly back into the mattress, panting, and Lucifer collapsed on top of him. 

They laid like that for a few moments, catching their breath, before Lucifer sat back up and slowly slid himself off of Sam. Sam handed over the towel, and let Lucifer clean them both off while he took the condom off, tied it off, and threw it in the general direction of the trash can before taking the dirty towel and tossing it toward the hamper. He then pulled Lucifer back down for a slow kiss, turning them so they were both on their sides and then drawing the covers up and over them both. 

Lucifer cuddled into Sam before closing his eyes. He only meant to rest them for a moment, but he soon drifted off. Sam followed him into a light doze soon after.


	4. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lucifer talk.
> 
> Warning: Angst and a horrible life story below. Also, discussion of domestic abuse. And non-sexual parental abuse. Did I mention that Zachariah is a giant dick?

Sam woke up after twenty minutes or so, and carefully extricated himself from Lucifer's embrace before standing up and stretching. He made his way into the bathroom and took a quick shower before coming out and getting dressed as quietly as he could to avoid waking up Lucifer. He left a clean towel next to the other man and the door to the bathroom open with the light on in case Lucifer wanted a shower, then headed downstairs. 

He started the coffee machine, then decided to go out and get the mail--he hadn't stopped it while he was gone, and since Jo and Ellen probably hadn't been over in a few days, his box was probably full. Sure enough, he was on his way back carrying a large handful of mail--mostly junk--when he spotted Lucifer's boots by the door. He picked them up too, and carried them inside, intending to wipe them off. Of course, he saw the socks and phone inside as well as the ripped clothes Lucifer had set by the door, so he ended up throwing the mail down on a table in a hallway and carrying the rest to the laundry room. He wiped the boots down as best he could with a damp rag, then threw rag, socks, and muddy clothing into the washing machine before starting it up. 

Sam carried the boots back to the foyer and set them down, then took the phone into the dining room. He noticed that Lucifer had a bunch of texts, but he wasn't the sort to snoop, so he put the phone down next to the money he'd left on the table earlier. By that time, the coffee was finished, and he poured himself a cup, sipping at it as he heated up one of Ellen's breakfast burritos. While it was in the microwave, he set another one out on a plate to heat up for Lucifer once he woke. Finally, Sam retrieved his laptop and settled down at the table to eat and catch up on the latest news. 

\-------------------

Lucifer woke up some time later and stretched lazily. He hadn't felt this content in a very long time. Of course, he knew it wouldn't last long, but for just now, he could pretend that someone actually cared about him and that his life didn't completely suck. After a few minutes, Lucifer got out of bed intending to go into the bathroom, but something in the light of the open bathroom door caught his eye--the edge of the painting above Sam's bed. "What the fuck?" he said aloud. _It can't be,_ he thought to himself--but he was already pretty sure it was. He circled the room, turning on every light he could find, before he looked back up. He'd been right. He /knew/ that painting.

\-------------------

"Good morning," Sam said with a soft smile on his face when Lucifer appeared downstairs, dressed in the clothes Sam had lent him. "There's coffee and a breakfast burrito in there for you, and your clothes are in the wash. Oh! And I think someone's trying to get a hold of you," he added, pointing to Lucifer's phone with his coffee mug. 

"Good morning," Lucifer replied, letting nothing of the matter with the painting show on his face. He knew Sam wouldn't believe him--hell, he still didn't believe it. If he didn't know better, he'd think the entire thing was a prank Zachariah was pulling on him. Zach had no sense of humor, though. Speaking of Zach, Lucifer figured he'd better check the phone before he did anything else, so he flipped it open and started scrolling through the dozen-odd texts that were indeed from the man in question. 

Sam watched Lucifer check his phone, and frowned as Lucifer's eyes widened considerably and he went several shades paler than he already was while he read. The reaction automatically concerned Sam, but it also made it clear that he hadn't imagined the extra bruises Lucifer was sporting last night. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, setting his mug down. 

"What?" Lucifer startled, then shook his head as he looked at Sam and then quickly looked away. "Oh--nothing. It's fine," he replied, putting even a certain Angel of Thursday's terrible lying abilities to shame. "I just need some coffee," he added lamely, as he set the phone down and left for the kitchen. 

Sam stared after Lucifer. Yeah, nothing was wrong and that hadn't been weird /at all/. He glanced over at the phone, and his little-brother instincts kicked in. He did exactly what he would have done had Dean acted that way, and snagged the phone with one long arm before opening it and scrolling through the last few texts. As he did, his eyebrows climbed into his hairline. The most tame one was the first, which simply read, "WHERE THE FUCK R U?" It had been sent earlier that morning. The one after that read, "R U DEAD BITCH?" They escalated to, "UD BETTER B DEAD CUNT OR ILL MAKE U WISH U WERE," and finished with, "DONT COME HOME ULNESS U HAVE AT LEAST A GRAND. GET UR WORTHLESS ASS BACK 2 TEH TRUCK STOP IF U DONT." Lucifer had replied to the entire tirade with a simple, lowercase, "okay."

"Hey, how many minutes should I--," Lucifer poked his head out of the door to the kitchen and stopped speaking as he saw Sam with the phone. Fixing his gaze on the floor, he heaved a huge sigh. Clearly, the time for pretending was over. At least he'd managed to pour himself a cup of coffee--he was going to need it.

Sam looked up with a horrified expression. "Is this your pimp?" he asked. He would've tried to moderate his tone had he known how much Lucifer was going to deflate at the question, but he was still shocked by the texts he'd just read. 

Lucifer was silent a few moments, then walked over and sat down in the seat where he'd eaten last night, setting his coffee mug down next to him. "...No," he admitted finally, looking down at the table rather than up at Sam. "'S my boyfriend. Zachariah." He knew Sam would be furious with him for not mentioning that he had a boyfriend earlier, even if what they'd done had been just a one-time deal.

"Your boyfriend?!" Sam tried to moderate his tone, but couldn't, and Lucifer winced. Sam saw, and forced himself to take a deep breath before asking, "Does he always talk to you like this?"

"No," Lucifer replied, much too quickly, though he seemed surprised by the question. "No, he's just really stressed out right now. He lost his job a couple of months back, so he's worried about keeping our apartment. I never had a real job; I'm not good at anything, but he said that maybe I was still young enough to make some money this way. He was probably just worried about me when I wasn't home this morning and overreacted."

Sam didn't know where to start. He wasn't a particularly violent man, but he already wanted to punch this Zachariah. In fact, he found himself counting to ten in his head, just like he was always telling Dean to do. He knew he might be able to help Lucifer--but only if he didn't completely fuck up this conversation. "Lucifer," he said finally, and calmly, settling for a question that wouldn't make it sound like he was blaming Zachariah for anything, "Do you like being a sex worker?"

Lucifer glanced up before taking a nervous sip of his coffee and shrugging. "No one really likes their job," he said finally. "But spreading my legs is the only thing I'm good at." He tried to make the comment sound like a joke, but it came out a little too bitter for that. 

"I sincerely doubt that," Sam replied. "What if I helped you find a different job? I have friends. I could ask around and see if anyone was hiring. In fact, I bet my friend Benny could use some help. He owns a Cajun restaurant in town, and he's always complaining about how fast he goes through waiters and busboys and the like." 

Lucifer shook his head. "I'm clumsy. I'd drop everything, probably in the customers' laps. Anyway, I doubt I could make enough money that way. I appreciate what you're trying to do, Sam, but you've already done plenty for me. I can't ask you for anything more." 

"Lucifer--actually, can I call you something else? Calling you Lucifer still seems a bit silly," Sam replied, shaking his head, still convinced that Lucifer was a working name. 

Lucifer sighed and rubbed his temples. "It's really my name. I'd show you my ID, but Zach keeps it safe when I'm working. 

_I bet he does,_ Sam thought, though his mouth was on a tangent. "Your parents really named you--"

"My parents were religious nuts," Lucifer replied, an edge to his tone. "They named us after angels. Michael and Raphael are my older brothers. I was going to be Gabriel, but father thought Lucifer was more 'fitting' for some reason. Not all of us grew up with a perfect family," he added, gesturing to the photos of family and friends that Sam had displayed in the room.

 _No family is perfect,_ Sam thought, but he knew better than to give voice to it. Instead, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Lucifer. I didn't mean to upset you." This conversation was quickly spiraling out of his control, so he took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "It's just--I know we only just met, but I like you. I'd like to think we're friends, even though we don't really know each other. You don't seem happy. You were injured--badly--while working. Is the money you make really worth that?"

"Easy for you to say," Lucifer replied, though there was more resignation than heat in his voice. "You have plenty of it."

"I didn't always," Sam corrected gently. "My father is a mechanic, and my mother is a librarian. We weren't dirt poor, no, but we weren't rich, either. I've had to work hard to get to where I am now."

"My father was the town's mean drunk AND the town religious nutball," Lucifer said, though he finally made eye contact with Sam. "When he found me with another boy, he beat me to within an inch of my life and threw me out of the house with nothing but the clothes I had on. No one else in the family would have anything to do with me after that." 

Sam winced. He was starting to understand why Lucifer put up with Zachariah. "I'm sorry, Luce, I really am," Sam replied, the pet name falling easily from his lips. He reached across the table and took the other man's hand. "No one should ever have to go through something like that. But things like that can fuck with your head. Convince you that you're worthless, or not worthy of being loved. Once your brain accepts that as truth, you start making decisions based on it. Sometimes you put everyone else first; sometimes you take risks you would never take if you thought you were worth anything. Oftentimes people like that end up with someone who takes advantage of their ability to always give without taking anything in return. Or refuse offers of help, thinking they don't deserve them." _Thank you, Psych 101,_ Sam added mentally. 

As Lucifer listened to Sam, tears that had already been welling up as he recounted his childhood began to spill over, and he soon had removed his hand from Sam's in order to bury his face in his hands and sob.

Sam stood up and came around the table. Taking a seat in the chair next to Lucifer, Sam reached out and pulled the blonde into his lap, letting him cry against his shoulder. Sam gently rubbed Lucifer's back while speaking soothingly. "It's all right, Luce. It's going to be all right. I promise." He wished he had more confidence in his words. It would be all right, if he had anything to say about it...but it also wasn't his life, so he didn't actually have a say in it. 

When Lucifer's sobs had turned into hiccups, Sam stood up and put him back in his own chair before leaving the room briefly. He came back with a box of tissues and a glass of water, both of which he set in front of Lucifer. He left again, and in a few minutes returned with the forgotten breakfast burrito, which was now steaming. "Eat," he urged, before sitting back down next to Lucifer.

Sam waited until Lucifer had obeyed to say anything more. "I have to ask one more thing, and I'm sorry, you're not going to like it. The bruises you didn't get last night. Are those all from clients? Or are some from Zachariah?"

Lucifer looked down again and hesitated for just long enough to give Sam the answer to his question. "He's been really stressed lately," he repeated. "I keep doing things that make him angry." 

Sam was seething, but he tried to keep his tone gentle. "That doesn't give him the right to hit you, Luce. -No one- has that right. It's called assault, and you don't deserve it, no matter what you might think or what your dad said to you when you were little."

"You don't understand," Lucifer replied around a mouthful of burrito. "Zach's been good to me. He took me in off the street, gave me food and clothing and a place to stay. He's taken care of me for years; when we had more money, he even let me take a few classes. He's a good man, he's just really upset right now. I can't just leave him because he's having money troubles." 

Sam sighed. This wasn't the sort of problem that could be fixed easily, or quickly, however much he might wish it was. Plus, Lucifer was getting defensive. "Okay," he said finally. "But Lucifer, I want you to think about what I said, all right? And--would you mind if I programmed my number into your phone?" He picked up the device, which was still in front of him. 

"No, I don't mind," Lucifer replied, relaxing a little as the topic strayed from his boyfriend. 

Smiling slightly, Sam punched his number into Lucifer's phone and saved it. "There," he said. "Now if you decide later that you want help finding another job, or you need anything, you can call or text me. Any time, day or night. I won't be upset. All right?"

"All right," Lucifer replied in a small voice. He knew he didn't deserve Sam's kindness, but he had to admit, it felt a little better, having Sam's phone number. Aside from a few repeat clients, it was the only number on the phone that wasn't Zach's. 

Sam nodded, and then slowly climbed to his feet. "You finish eating, and I'll go get your things out of the dryer. Then I'll drive you wherever you want to go, okay?"

"Okay." Lucifer didn't want to leave, but he knew he had to. He barely deserved Zachariah, let alone Sam. Once he was done with the burrito, he pocketed the money--he felt guilty about taking it, but knew it would mollify Zach--and his phone before taking his empty plate into the kitchen and then going in search of Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1\. Please don't think I'm implying that all sex workers have low self-esteem; I'm not. Lucifer has low self-esteem due to his crappy upbringing *slow clap for Chuck's A+ parenting* and his abusive boyfriend. 
> 
> 2\. This fic took a left turn at Albequerque. I underestimated Lucifer's self-loathing and connection with Zachariah. As a result, there are probably going to be more than 6 chapters. Hopefully you don't mind :). I'll try not to be Robert Jordan.


	5. Driving Mr. Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam drops Lucifer off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I can write short chapters too! ...Sometimes. 
> 
> Seriously, though, I'm putting this out there because I think the next chapter is going to be difficult for me to write. Add to that the fact that I won't be home tomorrow, and you might not have the next chapter for a few days. So here's a bit of fluff and a bit of plot to tide you over. Enjoy!
> 
> I promise (or threaten?), Zachariah will be an active participant in the next chapter. You'll wish he'd stayed asleep, though.

Sam pulled up in front of an apartment building that was more or less falling apart and turned off the car. "Are you sure you want to go in?" They both knew that Sam had read Zachariah's text about what he would do if Lucifer came home without more money. Sam had considered giving the extra money to Lucifer, but figured that the blonde wouldn't take it. After seeing the apartment building, he was glad he hadn't. While real estate was exorbitantly priced in California, Sam seriously doubted if the rent in this place for ANY apartment was more than $1500 a month--and Lucifer had implied that he was making more than that. A couple of careful questions on the ride over had revealed that Lucifer knew almost nothing about his and Zachariah's finances. From what Lucifer had said, 'Zach' was a textbook case of an abuser. Controlling, manipulative, narcissistic... Sam found himself daydreaming about being a prosecuting attorney in a criminal case against the man. 

"I have to; these are ripped," Lucifer replied, holding up his shorts. "Don't worry, he usually takes a nap now. Besides, as long as I bring -some- money home, he normally doesn't get mad." He opened the car door and climbed out. "I'll be right back with your clothes, I promise," he added, before disappearing into the building.

Sam, of course, couldn't care less about the clothes he'd let Lucifer borrow, but he was happy to stick around, just in case Zachariah did get angry. A witness to even verbal abuse--particularly a witness who was a well-to-do lawyer--would do wonders for any case against him. Sam wished he could just whisk Lucifer away from the abusive asshole and into the sort of life the man--any man, really--deserved, but knew that he wouldn't be able to do that until the blonde had made up his mind that he wanted to get away from Zachariah. /If/ Lucifer ever came to that conclusion. In the meantime, Sam was content to try to show Lucifer what a -real- friend acted like. Sure, he wanted to be more than just Lucifer's friend, but he'd also be fine with it if Lucifer decided that that's all they were after leaving Zachariah. As long as Lucifer was safe and happy, Sam would be happy for him. If Dean were here and privy to Sam's thoughts, he'd probably call him a sap. Or worse. But Sam didn't care.

After only a few minutes, Lucifer re-emerged from the building, carrying the borrowed clothing and wearing another fishnet tank with low-riding shorts. He'd left the money on the table next to Zachariah, who had been sleeping in his recliner across from the TV. Lucifer hadn't wanted to take the chance that someone would try to take it from him. Much better to leave it at home, where it would be safe. 

Rather than walking over to the passenger seat, he walked up to Sam's window, which the lawyer rolled down for him. "Here you go," Lucifer said, with false cheerfulness. "I can walk to the truck stop from here."

Sam hesitated; he'd hoped he'd at least have the ride over to talk to Lucifer further. "You keep that," he said, handing back the hoodie. "It's already cold out. You can tie it around your waist for now. And--" Sam decided to display a rare moment of vulnerability--and employ the puppy dog eyes again. "Would you do me a favor?"

Lucifer took the garment, smiling, and very much meant it when he replied, "Anything, Sam."

"Could you text me when you get back home tonight? I just want to know that you're all right," Sam explained as he placed the rest of the clothing on the passenger seat. "And keep away from bigoted truckers?" He desperately wanted to include additional instructions, like eating, but knew that that would be going too far. 

Lucifer barked out a short laugh. "I'll try," he promised. "And I'll text you, sure." He half-turned to go, but then turned back and blurted out, "Can I ask you a question?" His own puppy-dog look wasn't nearly as good as Sam's, but it was close. 

"Sure," Sam replied, expecting a question along the lines of 'why did you help me,' and mentally starting to prepare his answer. 

He was therefore completely blindsided when Lucifer asked, "That painting in your bedroom, the one of the sunrise. Where did you get it?" 

Sam blinked for a few moments, trying to re-arrange his thoughts. "What?" he asked, confused. "Uhhhhh-" _Smooth, Sammy,_ he heard his brother say in his head. "At a gallery on State Street," he managed finally. "Why, did you like it?"

"Yeah," Lucifer replied, glad for the excuse Sam provided for the question and allowing just a bit more relief to show than if he'd truly just been curious. "Yeah, it was pretty. I liked it."

"I'm glad," Sam said, still confused. He waited to say anything else, just in case it would make Lucifer explain himself. 

Unfortunately, Lucifer didn't oblige him. "Okay. Well, I have to go. Thanks again, Sam. I still don't know what I'd've done if you hadn't been there." 

"You're welcome, Luce," Sam replied. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye," Lucifer gave a little wave, and then turned and walked away. 

"Bye!" Sam called after him, before starting the car back up and heading home, wondering what on Earth had piqued Lucifer's curiosity about that painting. Sure, it was pretty, but it wasn't as striking as some of the other items he had in the house--and Lucifer hadn't asked about any of those. 

Sam spent the rest of the day answering the numerous e-mails that had piled up while he was away and brushing up on the cases he'd need to deal with on Monday. He frequently found himself worrying about Lucifer, but tried to keep it in the back of his head where it wouldn't shatter his concentration--a trick he'd picked up in law school. Once he'd brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, however, the worry wasn't as easy to banish, and Sam found himself waking up multiple times that night. Around three in the morning, his phone beeped, indicating that a text message had arrived from a certain number. Sam immediately grabbed his phone to check it. "i'm fine," the text message read. "Good, I'm glad to hear that," he wrote back, before setting the phone back down and falling sound asleep.


	6. It's all about Zachariah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, I do not approve of Zachariah's word choice, language, actions, or really, his very existence.

Things went well for Lucifer the rest of Saturday and Sunday, and Zachariah seemed a little calmer than usual. Therefore, Monday afternoon, when he got up, Lucifer decided to bring up one of the issues that had been bothering him after his talk with Sam. Not the most important one, but Lucifer thought that if things went well, it might lead to a discussion of the most important one. Of course, things rarely went 'well' around Zachariah nowadays.

Lucifer knew the importance of placating his boyfriend, so after he thoroughly cleaned himself in the shower and dressed, he went to the apartment's tiny kitchen to get Zach a beer and brought it into the living room. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the room was a mess, even though he'd cleaned it up just a few days ago. There were pizza boxes and takeout containers all over an end table, bottles all over the floor (some of them from beer, several from hard liquor), and a stack of Zachariah's resumes were about to fall off of a bookshelf onto the floor. Used napkins and a book or two littered the floor along with the bottles. 

The older, balding man sitting in the recliner across from the TV barely glanced up when Lucifer entered, though he was quick enough to snatch the proffered beer. "About time you got your lazy ass out of bed," Zachariah grumbled as he opened the beer. "This place is disgusting; clean it up, whore."

Lucifer knew, _knew,_ that he should just nod and go get a trash bag and the recycling bin. Instead, he steeled himself and brought up a different topic. "Um, I thought--" Zachariah interrupted him with a snort, showing exactly what he thought of Lucifer's ability to think. "There's still light out. Maybe I could go out and paint for a little while and then come back and clean up?" There were barely any spaces between the last few words, he was speaking so fast--especially since he could already tell what the answer was from Zach's thunderous expression. 

Zachariah twisted in the recliner so he was glaring balefully up at Lucifer. Lucifer could smell the alcohol on his breath as he opened his mouth to speak, and in that moment, he suddenly reminded Lucifer of his father, Chuck, so vividly that his hands began shaking. "Zach, I want to go waste my time painting when what we really need is money," he mocked, in a whining voice that sounded nothing like Lucifer. "Zach, I need money because I ripped my clothes. Zach, can you please give me money for groceries? Fuck, you're so stupid, sometimes I don't know why I keep you around." 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Lucifer immediately capitulated, putting his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. "I'll clean now." He knew better than to do anything else, and immediately went back to the kitchen to retrieve cleaning supplies while Zachariah turned back to the television, satisfied that he had cowed his younger boyfriend.

Lucifer spent the next half hour or so sorting the debris and being careful only to do loud things, such as running the vacuum, when Zachariah's show was on commercial break. Zachariah appeared to have found a marathon of old Dr. Sexy, M.D. episodes on some channel, and seemed to be enjoying it as he drank. As soon as his beer was done, he glanced at Lucifer and then very purposefully tossed down the bottle in a spot Lucifer had already cleaned up. He smirked to himself when Lucifer didn't say a word, instead walking over and bending down to pick up the bottle before placing it in the recycling bin. Zach smacked Lucifer's ass--hard--as he walked by. Lucifer realized that it was the only time Zach had touched him purposefully for days.

Lucifer waited until almost all of the cleaning was done and commercials were on before he spoke again. "Zach?" he asked carefully. 

"What?" Zachariah didn't even bother looking at Lucifer this time, though he did lower the volume slightly with the remote. He was drinking a second beer. 

"You remember that painting I made for you? The one of Tioga Lake at sunrise?" Lucifer was careful to not put any emotion into his voice. 

Zachariah grunted. "Yeah," he replied. "Why?" he asked. Thankfully, his tone was more curious than suspicious. 

"Is it still in storage?" Lucifer asked, trying to sound casual when he felt anything but. 

"Of course. Where else would it be, stupid? It won't fit on any of the walls here, remember? Because you insisted on making it so big?" Although Zachariah didn't turn around, Lucifer could practically hear the roll of his eyes in his voice. "You never listen to me. I told you you should make it smaller." 

Lucifer was listening now, and Zachariah's words were breaking his heart. He'd poured his soul into that painting, which was of one of the happiest memories he had shared with Zach--when they were younger, the two of them had gone hiking in and around Yosemite and had watched the sun rise together over the lake, while holding hands. He'd thought that Zach felt the same way about the painting, but obviously he didn't. Maybe the fact that Zach was blatantly lying to him should have bothered him more, but Lucifer definitely felt that the former betrayal was much worse than the latter. He took a deep breath, and carefully kept all of this emotion out of his tone as he replied, "I saw it at a client's." 

Lucifer kept his head down, so he didn't see Zachariah turning around in the chair, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He could imagine it, though. He'd seen it enough times. After a few moments' silence, Zach muted the TV and climbed out of the chair. _Shit shit shit,_ thought Lucifer. Thankfully, Zachariah didn't walk over to him, at least not right away. "Fuck," he swore. "Fine, you caught me. I sold it so that we could pay the rent two months ago. I didn't tell you, because I knew you'd bawl about it and mope like the fucking baby you are. Or worse, think you could be one of those painters who actually makes a living, instead of a fucking painter who's lucky to make $30 a day selling terrible seascapes at some flea market. Because Lucifer, _your paintings are trash, just like you_. It's a miracle I got any money for it at all."

"O-okay, Zach," Lucifer stammered in response. "It's fine. I'm not mad. Everything's fine." He held his hands up again and backed toward the nearest wall. 

"Don't fucking tell me it's fine!" Zachariah roared. He crossed the distance between them much faster than he had any right to while drunk. He punched Lucifer in the gut, and, when the taller man doubled over, punched him in the left side of his face. Lucifer hit the ground, and Zachariah stood over him and yelled downwards. "I work for that company for thirty fucking years and they fire me! Then I come home and I'm stuck with -you-, refusing to pull your weight and whining about some stupid painting." He followed Lucifer down to the ground, straddled him, and started pummeling his face. There was a sickening crunch, and Lucifer's nose started spouting blood. "While I'm trying to concentrate on finding another job! I'll never find anything at this rate, and it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT, you fucking whore!" 

Lucifer was doing what he always did in these situations, ever since he'd been a teenage boy and his father had beat him. He was trying to curl up in a tiny ball to present the least amount of surface area to his attacker. It was more instinctual than conscious, however, because his mind was solidly back in that day when Chuck had drug him by his hair into the living room and made 'an example out of him' in front of his mother and his brothers. He was hearing Zachariah's words, but it was almost as if they were in Chuck's voice. Meanwhile, he was unconsciously making animalistic whining noises, non-verbally begging Zach to stop what he was doing. 

Zachariah did finally stop punching Lucifer, but got up and started kicking him instead as his diatribe continued. "You're sick! Taking all of those cocks like you do. I bet you enjoy it, too, you stupid fucking slut. When did you last give me a blow job? Or anything, really, besides complaints?" There was a loud snapping sound as his foot connected, and Lucifer screamed. "You know, I've been stupid. I bet I can go out and find myself a new boyfriend, someone who will be -happy- to take care of me, someone who will -help- me find a job instead of constantly being in the way! Someone younger and better-looking than you, that's for sure. In fact," he added, "I'm going to go right now. You'd better hope I don't find anyone, because if I do, you'll be out on the street the instant I get back. Then you'll learn /exactly/ how worthless you are." Zachariah grabbed his keys from a table and walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. 

Lucifer watched him go with the eye that could still see before he passed out from the pain.


	7. The detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester has started, so I have less time to write. It will thus likely be a few days in between chapters. On the bright side, the end of this story is in sight..but I also added some chapters to the count because I'm bad at estimating how many more chapters it will take me to finish. For example, this chapter became two chapters. Sigh.

Sam broke several speeding laws on his way to Lucifer's apartment. Lucifer had somehow called him, and while Sam couldn't understand much, he knew Lucifer was hurt and needed help, and managed to get Lucifer's apartment number out of him. Sam had been in his office, but one thing he liked about being a successful lawyer was the ability to tell his receptionist to reschedule everything because he had to leave to deal with an emergency. 

As he'd dashed out to his car, Sam called 911 and gave them the address and apartment number, even though he knew Lucifer would prefer it if the police weren't involved. Lucifer hadn't been able to clearly express how badly he was hurt, and Sam didn't want to take chances. Besides, if Zachariah had hurt Lucifer as Sam suspected, this would mean that there was proper documentation of any injuries. Plus, if Zachariah was still there, the police could take care of him.

Sam realized that he was thinking in legal terms to avoid completely freaking out. He knew he should probably spend some more time analyzing why he felt this way about someone he'd only met four days ago, but he couldn't help it. He'd become a lawyer to help people like Lucifer. Add to that the fact that Lucifer was now a friend, and Sam would do anything for him.

As Sam pulled up to the apartment building, he saw the flashing lights of two police cars, but no ambulance. He wasn't sure if that was a bad sign or a good sign, so he practically dove out of his car (completely forgetting to lock it, despite the crime rate) and took the steps two at a time until he reached the floor Lucifer's apartment was on. The hallway was dim, and covered with stains and scrapes of various shapes and sizes. Sam hurried down it until he reached the police officer, a medium-sized man with gray hair, who was standing next to the apartment door. The man eyed Sam as he half-ran up, and Sam tried to force down his panic and give the man a charming look instead. "Hello, officer," Sam greeted. "I'm Sam Winchester. I called 911. I'm...a friend of the man who was injured. I know you can't give me any specifics, but is he still here, or was he taken to the hospital?"

The police officer eyed him a moment, then shrugged. "Hospital," he replied. "Providence. Wait," he said as Sam started to turn around, "Carter will probably want to talk to you." 

Sam nodded; as much as he wanted to go see Lucifer, he doubted the hospital would release anything more than the blonde's condition to him, if that, and maybe he could sweet-talk someone here into letting him know Lucifer's condition. "Okay," he replied, as the police officer stuck his head in the door. "Carter!" the officer called. Sam peeked in over his shoulder, and felt a huge surge of relief when he saw the crime scene and realized that at the very least, there wasn't enough blood left behind for Lucifer to be in serious danger of blood loss. 

A short woman of African descent made her way over from where she was looking at some papers on an end table. She had relaxed hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wide, expressive eyes the color of undiluted coffee. She was wearing a cheap, but well-fitting, black suit skirt with a cute blue blouse. _Dean would have tried to get her number already,_ Sam thought, as the officer lowered his voice and spoke in 'Carter's' ear for a moment or two.

The detective nodded to the officer, and then came out into the hallway to speak to Sam. He noticed noticed that her eyes lingered on his hands, which made sense if Lucifer had been beaten. "Detective Carter," she introduced herself, sticking out a hand for Sam to shake.

"Sam Winchester, attorney, nice to meet you," he replied as he shook her hand firmly. "I'm the one who called 911. Lucifer--the injured man--called me and told me he was hurt, so I called you." Again, he tried to be charming, but he was good at reading people, and Detective Carter was unimpressed with his charm, and likely reserving judgement on how much she trusted Sam. He could tell she wasn't too pleased with having an attorney at her crime scene, either. _Never mind, she's way too smart for Dean,_ he thought. 

"And what's the nature of your relationship with Mr. Shurley and Mr. Noble?" Detective Carter asked, pulling out a notepad and a pencil and quirking an eyebrow. 

Sam instinctively decided to be honest with the detective--she seemed like the sort of person who would appreciate it. "I met Lucifer a few days ago. We exchanged phone numbers and texted a few times. I know that he has a boyfriend named Zachariah who lives here with him. When I asked him about some bruises he had, he admitted that Zachariah was the source of them, although he didn't go into detail." 

Detective Carter nodded and scribbled a few phrases in her notebook. "Take me back to earlier today. Did you and Lucifer text at all?"

"No," Sam replied. "We texted a little last night--he let me know he had made it home all right--but then I didn't hear from him until he called me at..." Sam checked the call log on his phone, "3:07 PM. I had a hard time understanding him at first, because he sounded really strange. I could make out that he needed help, and he was clearly in pain. I assumed Zachariah had hurt him, so I asked him what his apartment number was--I dropped him off at this building before, but have never been up here. He told me, and I hung up and called you, then came over."

"Why do you assume it was Zachariah that hurt him?" 

"From what he told me earlier, Zachariah is an abuser. He controls what Lucifer does and doesn't do, who he sees and when, and even what he knows about finances and things like that," Sam explained. "Add to that the bruises and how Lucifer seems to walk on eggshells around Zachariah, and it's not hard to guess what happened."

Carter made some additional notes, and then asked, "Have you met Mr. Noble--Zachariah?" she corrected. 

"No, I haven't," Sam replied, shaking his head. "Lucifer seemed reluctant to introduce us. Look, I know you're not supposed to tell me anything, but...was he at least still conscious when he went to the hospital? I'm really worried about him."

The look on Carter's face softened a little, and she glanced at the police officer by the door before looking back at Sam and nodding slightly, once. He must have looked relieved, because she offered him a small smile. "Would you have any idea where to find Zachariah?"

"No, I don't. Which is probably a good thing," Sam replied. "Listen. I know in this area, especially when the victim's a man, conviction rates on domestic abuse are low. Victims don't like to testify against their attackers, and juries have a hard time with the concept that men can be abused as well as women." He paused, and Carter nodded thoughtfully. "I promise I will do everything in my power to make sure Lucifer testifies, and testifies well. Hell, I'll get him in to see the prosecutor's favorite psychologist, if I can. Just...please, promise me that you'll do everything you can for him on your end. You look like the sort of detective who really cares about people, but I know that resources are limited."

Detective Carter made a face as Sam spoke, clearly agreeing with his statements. She hesitated, however, when he asked for his favor. "You're right about resources being limited," she replied. "Will you be honest with me about something, though? I want to know what I'm getting into here."

"It depends," Sam admitted ruefully. "There are some things I'm not comfortable telling you until I've discussed them with Lucifer." 

"Fair enough," Carter replied, looking up at him from the notes she was taking. "But I want to know how complicated this is going to be. Forgive me for asking this, but...have you and Lucifer slept with each other?"

Sam sighed, but nodded. Again, Detective Carter seemed like someone he should be straightforward with, and he felt comfortable around the woman. "We did. I'm aware that a jury may see that as 'justification' for whatever Zachariah did, but I won't lie about it on the stand, either. If Zachariah found out about it, it may be that that was what set him off. It doesn't mean that what he did wasn't criminal, however."

"All the good ones play for the other team," the female detective responded with a bit of a rueful look and a smile. "Thank you for being honest with me, Sam. I promise, I will do my best to make sure that /whomever's/ responsible is brought to justice."

"I play for both teams," Sam corrected with a small smile of his own, "Just not at the same time. And all I can ask of you is that you do your best. Here's my card, by the way," he added, handing one over, "In case you need to contact me. Unless you have more questions for me, I'm going to go to the hospital now to try to see Lucifer." 

"I'll be heading over there myself once I'm done here," Carter replied, accepting his card and slipping it into her notebook before handing him her own. "Once you talk to Mr. Shurley, if you have more to tell me, I'd love to hear it," she added, making him aware of the fact that she had noticed his phrasing earlier. 

"I will, Detective," he promised, tucking her card away and giving her a nod before turning to head back toward the stairs, his car, and ultimately, the hospital. Assuming his car was still there. Hopefully the police lights would deter any would-be thieves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Person of Interest, which was a great show.


	8. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam visits Lucifer in the hospital.

Sam did his best not to pace in front of the nurses' station. He'd arrived at Providence Hospital (his car had, in fact, been present when he'd left the apartment), and had spent the next half-hour doing his best to charm his way into visiting Lucifer. He'd spoken with so many nurses that at this point, he was getting all of their names confused. Right now, the head nurse on duty was on the phone with Detective Carter (at his request), who was hopefully telling her that he was not a suspect in the crime. Another nurse had been dispatched to ask Lucifer (who was listed in stable condition) if he felt up for a visitor, which was probably code for checking to see if Lucifer even wanted Sam anywhere near him.

The older nurse set the phone back in the cradle. Sam tried to remember her name. It was the name of a state...Mississippi? Maine? Something like that. He gave her puppy-dog eyes as she turned around, and she gave him a wide smile in response. "Detective Carter says that you are cleared to visit the patient IF he agrees to see you," she relayed. "We'll just wait a moment for Amy to get back and see what she says." 

"Thank you," said Sam, quite sincerely. He knew--was it Montana?--was bending the rules a little for him, and he appreciated it. He stepped out of everyone's way to wait for the blonde nurse to return. When she did, she spoke quietly with the head nurse, who nodded and waved a be-ringed hand. Missouri, that was her name. 

Nurse Amy, who had a kind smile, then walked over to Sam. "He's in room 3C," she said, gesturing in a direction before turning to walk back that way. "Now, he's on some mild sedatives for anxiety, so please be very careful not to upset him, or we'll have to ask you to leave. He can't talk very well right now, but he can nod and shake his head, and we've given him a pad of paper in case he wants to write anything. You should've seen him light up when I told him you were here," she added, giving Sam a sidelong glance and another smile. "He could really use a friend right now. By the way, I'm sure Missouri asked, but do you know any way to contact his family? We haven't been able to get in touch with them." 

Sam sighed. "His family threw him out. He's gay, and they think it's a sin. I doubt they'd care even if you did manage to find them."

"Assholes," Amy swore, then clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that!"

Sam actually laughed in response. "It's okay. They are assholes." His smile turned flinty. "Though not as big of a one as the guy who did this to him." 

"Amen to that," Amy replied, stopping in front of a room labeled 3C and gesturing Sam inside. "I'll be at the nurses' station if you need anything. Visiting hours are until 9PM." 

"Thank you," Sam replied. He took a couple of deep breaths before entering the room. After speaking with Lucifer a few nights ago, he suspected that if he got angry--even if it was directed at Zachariah and not Lucifer--that Lucifer would become upset, and that's the last thing Sam wanted. So, he forced calm upon himself and then walked into the room. It looked like every hospital room ever: there was a bathroom by the door, with two beds which could be separated by curtains. There were television screens up at the top of the wall across from the beds, and small tables with a chair or two next to the beds. Plus, of course, all of the equipment that went 'beep' on a regular basis.

Lucifer was in the bed closest to the window, looking at the door; the curtains were all drawn back, so Sam had an unobstructed view. The man in the other bed was sleeping, but Sam barely registered his existence. His eyes were on Lucifer--who looked absolutely awful. His left forearm was in a cast, and his right eye was swollen shut. Several lines of neat stitching on his face and some iodine stains along with the new bruises forming everywhere made him look more than a little like the Frankenstein monster. Lucifer had an IV in his right arm, and his right hand held a pencil and was lying on a yellow pad of paper. That arm was bruised as well; Sam suspected they were defensive wounds. He couldn't keep the wince or the sympathy off of his face, but he did his best not to think about the man that had done this. Suffice it to say, however, Sam had officially stopped daydreaming about getting Zachariah into court and started thinking about some of the worst ways to die. 

As Sam approached his bed, a lot of different emotions flickered across Lucifer's face--at least, what could be seen of it. Hope was there for a moment, but shame and guilt ( _God, the last thing he should feel is guilty,_ Sam thought) and despair and so many others made an appearance that Sam wasn't sure if he'd just imagined the hope. "Hey," Sam said weakly once he'd walked over and settled in a chair next to the bed. "I'd say something to try to make you laugh, but it looks like that might hurt." 

Lucifer's lips twitched upwards, and he gave a small nod. Amy had been right; he seemed pleased that Sam was there. "Hmm, and I guess I have to hold up both ends of the conversation, too. Lucky I'm a lawyer; the trick is to get us to -stop- talking," Sam joked. "Are they taking good care of you here? Your nurse seemed nice." He waited and watched Lucifer carefully as he nodded, and then looked around. Spotting a box of apple juice with a straw in it on a tray next to Lucifer's bed, Sam asked, "Do you want some juice? My throat always gets so dry when I'm in the hospital." 

Lucifer looked a bit relieved and nodded again, so Sam retrieved the box of juice and held it so Lucifer could get the straw into his mouth and take a drink. He winced slightly; Sam figured that his mouth was probably all cut up inside, judging by the number of splits on his lips. When the blonde was done drinking, Sam set the juice back on the tray. He wanted to touch Lucifer, but he couldn't tell if there was any place he could put a hand where it wouldn't hurt. Instead, he decided to do what he could with his voice and words. "I hope they gave you the good pain medication," he said, and got a tiny, tired smile in return. "That's the only nice thing about being in a hospital. Unless you're weird like my brother and actually -like- Jello. He once ate two whole molds of the stuff at a family picnic on a dare." Sam shook his head, and smiled fondly. "Dean's a bit...special, sometimes." 

Lucifer was indeed calming down as Sam told his story. He'd had no idea how Sam was going to react to his injuries, and it felt nice to just listen to the other man speak about nothing in particular. He knew that there would be questions later--he'd already been asked a few, as the EMTs were working on him--and he was glad that he could have a bit of time with Sam before all of that. He had no idea what he was going to say (or write, as the case may be), but at least for now he didn't have to think about it. In the meantime, he was curious about Sam's family, so he wrote, "younger?" on the pad and pointed to it with his pencil.

"Ha, no, Dean's older. I'm the baby," Sam replied with a grin. "Dean'll go on and on about how he raised me, if you let him. He makes it sound like we didn't even have parents. We used to be really close when we were kids. Not as much, now, but we still call and visit as much as we can," he added with a wistful smile. "He's married, and has a couple of kids, Ben and Sarah. Ben's twelve and starting to drive Dean up the wall, and Sarah's nine and her daddy's little princess still." 

Lucifer imagined two little kids with Sam's eyes (which currently looked green, as the walls behind him were painted that color) running around a yard, and smiled as much as he was able without hurting himself. He'd love to see that, love to meet Sam's brother one day. He wrote, "you?" on the piece of paper, letting Sam take the question however he would. 

Sam smiled. "No kids, and I'm single, as you already know," he said. Lucifer hadn't known for sure, but it made sense. Sam didn't seem like the type to sleep around on his significant other. Unlike him. "I was engaged once, but...law school was tough, and we were so young. Thankfully we decided to call it off before the wedding actually happened. We're still friends, Jess and I, but nothing more." 

Sam looked over at Lucifer and studied his face. The blonde seemed considerably more relaxed than he had when Sam had walked in. Sam hated to disrupt that, but he also knew he had to talk to him before Detective Carter arrived. So, Sam took a deep breath. "Lucifer, I know you probably don't want to even think about what happened, but you need some legal counsel before the police get here. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or upset you, but I'm a lawyer and while I don't usually deal with this sort of case, I can still give you some advice. Would that be all right?"

Lucifer stiffened, his one free eye darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. He very much did -not- want to talk to anyone about this, and he had no idea what to say to the police...but that was what Sam was offering, right? Advice on what to say to them? And he trusted Sam. He had no idea why Sam was still helping him, but so far Sam hadn't ever done anything to hurt him--just the opposite, really. After a few minutes, he finally glanced over at Sam and nodded. 

Sam exhaled; he hadn't been sure that Lucifer would agree. "All right." He glanced over at the sleeping man in the room, but decided that his presence didn't matter. Doing his best to keep his tone completely neutral (and mostly succeeding), he asked, "Did Zachariah do this?"

Lucifer looked down, refusing to meet Sam's eyes, but nodded once. 

"Okay. Okay--hey, look at me, Lucifer," Sam pleaded. He waited until Lucifer lifted his eyes a little before explaining, "I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore, okay? You don't have to be afraid. What he did to you is corporal injury--it's a felony," he explained. "That in itself is enough to put him in prison for a while. And don't worry about where you're going to stay or what you're going to do or anything like that. We're going to find a safe place for you," he added, because Lucifer looked more than a little worried. "And a restraining order, if we need it."

Sam then swallowed hard. He didn't want to ask the next question, and couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice. It was personal. "I'm sorry, I gotta ask--did he do this because he found out we slept together?" He was instantly relieved by the bewildered look on Lucifer's face, which appeared before the other man shook his head no. "Oh, thank god," Sam said, "I was afraid this was my fault. Partly my fault," he corrected, as he was acutely aware it was actually _all_ Zachariah's fault. 

Sam took another deep breath to calm himself. "Okay. First, I would strongly advise telling the police about what happened and who did this to you, but I do NOT advise discussing this next part with the police until you've had a chance to meet with a lawyer who can actually represent you. Whose idea was it for you to go into prostitution? Yours, or Zachariah's?" Again he tried to keep his voice neutral, though again, he failed. 

Lucifer looked down at the cast on his arm for a little while. Sam had sounded, if he was honest, a little too happy about the idea of Zachariah going to prison. He wasn't convinced that that was the right thing to do. Yes, he knew that he and Zachariah were over for good, but prison? It seemed a little extreme. He wanted to be honest with Sam, though, so he wrote a "Z" on the pad of paper...as he thought about a certain painting. 

"Thought so," and now Sam was definitely sounding a bit smug. "That's pandering. And when you got home, he'd take all the money?" Lucifer just nodded tiredly. "And that's prostitution," Sam announced. "We can cut a deal with the prosecution, where they give you immunity for any potential prostitution charges in exchange for testimony against--" In the middle of revealing his Grand Master Plan of how they would deal with Zachariah, Sam suddenly realized that Lucifer was in tears. _Shit, if Amy sees this, I'm out of here,_ Sam thought, although that worry had nothing to do with the fact that he reached out, and gently took Lucifer's hand in his own. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Luce. I got carried away. I didn't mean to upset you." He reached for the tissue box, and carefully handed Lucifer a tissue so he could wipe his eyes. "Here. Take a minute." 

"Wasn't you," Lucifer croaked out, his voice hoarse, as he took the tissue and wiped at his eyes with it. In all honesty, he'd hardly been listening to Sam. Instead, he had Zachariah's voice in a loop in his ear: _Your paintings are trash, Lucifer, just like you._

"Hey, don't speak," Sam replied quietly. "You're supposed to be resting. May I touch your shoulder?" he asked, hoping that it might be a pain-free area. When Lucifer nodded, Sam reached out and set his hand there, gently rubbing in small circles. "I'm so sorry. I just--I want to make sure you get justice for everything he's done to you. I hate seeing you upset and hurt like this." 

Lucifer nodded, and tried to calm himself down--more for the sake of his broken nose than the sake of his dignity. He wasn't actually sure he had any of that left. He enjoyed the feeling of Sam's hand on his shoulder, and leaned back into it a little. He was still concerned about any number of things, though, so he wrote down 'can't pay,' hoping Sam would understand.

Sam glanced down at the paper and mentally kicked himself again. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've explained this earlier. Everything I've talked about so far involves criminal charges, so you won't technically need an attorney for that. You'll be able to talk to the prosecutor, and he or she will take care of everything, no charge. But I also think you might want to file a civil suit or at least a Marvin case against Zachariah. That means you'd basically get money and items from your apartment, like a divorce settlement. You'd need a lawyer for that, but I know a few who would probably take on your case _pro bono._ May I ask you a few more questions? If you're too upset, they can wait." 

Lucifer wanted to answer Sam's questions, he really did, but between the pain medication, the sedatives, and all of the stress he was under, his head was swimming. So, he shook his head, but reached out with his hand for Sam's other hand and gave Sam a pleading look. 

"Okay. That's okay. We have plenty of time for all of that later," Sam said, taking the offered hand and holding it gently. "Why don't you get some rest? I'll stay right here, and we can talk again when you're feeling better. Just know that you're NOT going to be out on the streets again and that Zachariah CAN'T hurt you any more. I won't let either of those things happen."

Detective Carter found them like that some time later, with Lucifer sleeping while Sam held his hand and rubbed his shoulder. She made sure to make her shoes make noise on the tile floor, so that Sam, at least, would hear her coming. Lucifer awoke from his light doze at the sound, and both men looked up at her as she walked toward the bed. She ground her teeth when she saw what a mess Lucifer was. "Hello--Mr. Shurley? I'm Detective Carter," she said. "Mr. Winchester. Nice to see you again." She nodded at both and waited until they had nodded back at her before continuing. "I have some good news. One of my officers found Mr. Noble at a bar not far from the apartment, and we've brought him in for questioning. Since he also resisted arrest, we can hold him on that charge for a while." Her smile became a bit wolfish, and Sam immediately returned it. "Is Mr. Winchester providing you with legal counsel?"

Lucifer started looking anywhere but at Detective Carter, but he nodded, and in his peripheral vision, Sam did too. Although Carter hardly looked like an intimidating woman, she was the police, and she was going to ask him about what he'd been through. Truth be told, he really didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment. Thank goodness Sam was there, or he knew he'd mumble something about falling down the stairs and let that be the end of it.

"Okay. Given your state, I'm only going to ask you a single question today. I can get your full statement in a few days, when you're feeling better, and after you've talked over everything with Sam." Carter saw how worried Lucifer looked, and sat down in a chair so she wasn't looming over him. "But first, I'm going to tell you a few things I wouldn't normally say, but I think they're important for you to hear. First, my team and I are professionals and don't care that you're male or you're gay. I have a teenage son, and if he came out as gay, I would love him and want to protect him every bit as much as I do now. And if anyone ever did something like this to him...well." She cut herself off, but shared a Look with Sam. "All we want to do is find the person who did this to you," she added. 

Lucifer found himself searching her face for deception, but there wasn't any. She truly seemed to care more about what had happened than who he was. Though he shifted a little closer to Sam, he gave her a nod, indicating that she should continue. 

"The other thing," and here Carter sighed, and emotion leaked into her voice, "Unfortunately, I've seen this sort of thing a lot--both women and men in the hospital because someone used them as a punching bag. Do you know where I usually see them next?" She waited until Lucifer shook his head no to continue. "I usually see them in a body bag, because the person who 'only' punched them this time had a knife or a gun the next time. And there's always a next time. I can't count the number of people who I've seen let their abuser win, because they felt sorry for them or whatever and then lied in their statements to police or refused to testify against them. I don't want to see you like that, Lucifer, so please--please tell me the truth. If you're worried about your safety, we can take care of it. Mr. Noble's already in jail, and he's not going anywhere soon. When and if he does, we can make sure we have a restraining order in place before he's released and that you have us on speed dial in case he ignores it." 

Both Sam and Lucifer were listening attentively, and Lucifer appeared to be mulling it all over. She gave him a few moments to think about everything she had said, and then eyed Sam before she continued. He wasn't going to like this next bit. "The other thing you need to know is that when we picked up Zachariah, he was drinking like a fish and had been muttering to himself. The bartender said he seemed to be working himself up to do something, though he didn't know what that might be." Sam had gone pale, but Lucifer clearly didn't understand what she was implying. "We think he may have been planning to go back to the apartment and kill you and/or himself," she explained, "Though there's no way we could ever prove it." It was Lucifer's turn to whiten. "I'm not telling you this to scare you," she added gently, "I'm telling you this because from what my officer told me, he seems perfectly capable of it. We want to stop him. Even if you get away and he never touches you again, he'll find another boyfriend, and do the same thing. Please, if you can't do it for yourself, think about the next person Zachariah may hurt and do it for them."

Lucifer swallowed hard, and remembered Zach threatening to find someone new. There was no doubt in his mind that Zach could and would do all of this again, to someone else. Not anymore. He gripped Sam's hand hard, and then looked to Carter with determination in his non-swollen eye. She favored him with a dazzling smile. "Okay. Time for the question. Mr. Shurley, do you know who did this to you? And if you do, would you be so kind as to write that person's full name down on your paper?"

Neither Carter nor Sam was surprised when Lucifer began his answer by writing a 'Z.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just learned so much about California penal code...thank goodness for the internet.


	9. Cleanout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam helps Lucifer collect his things from the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grabs cotton and starts throwing it around* YOU have some fluff! And YOU have some fluff! EVERYONE HAVE FLUFFY FLUFF!

A few days later, Sam took a newly-freed-from-the-hospital Lucifer back to his apartment to pick up his things. This time, Sam parked in a parking garage that had security, and the two walked the remaining couple of blocks to the apartment building, Sam carrying an empty duffel bag. Lucifer still wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy, as he had bruised (but thankfully not cracked or broken) ribs in addition to his other injuries. 

The two had spoken via phone with a lawyer, Meg Masters, that specialized in domestic violence cases and had agreed to meet with them once Lucifer was feeling better. She had suggested that while Zachariah was in jail, they return to the apartment and take anything that had clearly been Lucifer's: clothing, any gifts he'd been given, and so on. She had also urged them to try to find any bank statements and make copies, so that they could see whether or not Zachariah was truly as broke as he claimed. Sam had agreed to take Lucifer over after work on Thursday, and for lack of any other options, Lucifer had agreed to stay in Sam's guest room until he was well enough to work and could think about getting a place of his own.

Truth be told, Lucifer was still in a state of mild shock. While he knew what had happened to him and the many ways his life had changed over the past few days, he felt more than a little out of control, and, truth be told, terrified of what was going to happen to him. Sure, Sam seemed to have swept in and solved all of his problems, but how long was that going to last? Zachariah, after all, had once done the exact same thing for him, and look how THAT had turned out. Lucifer very much wanted to trust the kind man who had visited him in the hospital when he could, going so far as to work on his laptop in the chair next to the bed rather than going home, which hadn't looked comfortable at all. He couldn't fully, however; he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Sam to get mad at him for something and withdraw his help. Of course, the various medications he was on were not helping him feel any more grounded.

"You okay?" Sam asked Lucifer, interrupting his reverie. There was a look of genuine concern on his face that made Lucifer offer him a small, if pained, smile in return. "Let me know if you need to rest."

"No, I'm all right," Lucifer replied. "The medicine's just making me a bit spacey." Then, largely because of said medicine, he blurted out, "Sam? Why are you helping me?" He wished he could take back the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but he knew life didn't work that way. 

Sam took a deep breath. He'd known this question was coming for quite a while, and yet he still didn't have a good answer. "Well," he said finally, "I would've helped anyone in your situation when I first met you. Male, female, wouldn't have mattered. Dean says I'm a sucker for a person in trouble. Of course, he says 'damsel in distress,'" Sam made a face at Dean's lack of political correctness. "Also, once I got to know you a little better...you remind me a bit of myself when I was in a really bad place, back when Jess and I broke up and law school was kicking my ass. I was lucky enough to be able to go to a therapist and ended up getting back on track, but if I hadn't... And who knows. My father and my brother didn't exactly take it well when I came out as bi; luckily, my mother managed to talk sense into them pretty quickly. But if she hadn't been around, well, 'There but for the grace of God,' you know?"

Lucifer absorbed as much of this as possible, nodding a few times to indicate he was still listening. He supposed it made sense, but he thought that there was probably more, so he remained silent. Sure enough, after a few moments, Sam started talking again. "So, anyway, I wanted to make sure that you got some of the same chances in life that I did. And you're an easy person to be friends with." There was a longer pause this time, and then Sam sighed. "I have to be honest with you, though." He pinned his gaze on his feet. "I--you're a /really/ attractive man. And I'd like to be more than friends. But," he added hastily, glancing up, "Please, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. Just friends is fine for now, really. In fact, I'd rather that, however you feel, we stayed just friends until you have a place of your own and a job and everything so that it's not a factor in your decision." Sam was beet-red by now, tripping over his tongue in a rather unlawyerly fashion. "Y'know. If there's even--I mean--you know."

Lucifer waited until Sam stammered to a stop. "Is that why you think I slept with you? Because it wasn't. Have you _seen_ yourself? You're like...like one of those statues in a museum. _Any_ gay guy would give his right nut to be with you." Goddamn his current lack of a filter; Lucifer was sure he was making Sam increasingly uncomfortable, which was the last thing he wanted to do. 

"I--" Sam was, indeed, out of his depth. So, he took a deep breath and re-focused. "I'm glad you didn't feel pressured," he said finally, as they reached the door to the apartment building. He held it open for Lucifer, and added, still bright red, "And...um...thank you."

"You're welcome, handsome," said Lucifer's mouth, without checking in with his brain first. It was grinning, too, even though that hurt. Lucifer went in and started going up the steps, letting Sam trail behind with the bag. He sobered up a bit when he finally reached the apartment door. The police had jimmied the door to get to him, and the landlord had sort of fixed it, though Lucifer was glad he didn't have anything that was worth much inside, because the 'fix' wasn't perfect. He was also starting to feel a little panicky, being back here. "Ummm," he said, as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, "This is silly, but...could you go in first?" 

"It's not silly," Sam corrected gently. "And of course I'll go in first." He suited action to words, then paused once he was a few steps in and held out his hand so that Lucifer could take it. 

Lucifer gratefully accepted, and walked into a place where, he realized, he had nothing but bad memories. He kept hold of Sam's hand and gripped it a bit tighter as he spotted the place where Zachariah had left him. 

Sam ran his thumb over Lucifer's knuckles, gently soothing the other man. "Hey," he said quietly. "You okay?"

"No," Lucifer admitted, looking back at Sam. "I feel a bit sick. Give me a minute?"

"Yeah--Here, c'mere." Sam gently wrapped his arms around Lucifer, and just held the other man for a moment, rubbing circles into his lower back. "It's okay," he murmured. "He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe." He continued to speak softly until Lucifer relaxed in his arms, and then released him. "Do you have an idea of where you want to start?" he asked quietly. 

"Bedroom, I think," Lucifer replied. There wasn't much out here that was his in any case, and he figured that starting in the bedroom would help him distance himself a little from the worst of the memories. 

Sam nodded, and followed him through the small apartment to the bedroom. He set the duffel bag down on the bed, and glanced around. There was a small desk with a computer and printer, and the desk had some drawers--plus, it was littered with papers. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the set-up. If Zachariah kept financial records, they'd likely be there. 

"Sure," Lucifer replied. He was pulling clothes from the closet and a dresser and stuffing them haphazardly into the bag. 

Zachariah's desk was a complete mess, but it didn't actually take Sam that long to find a bank statement. He scanned it, and then whistled. 

"What is it?" Lucifer asked, looking up from the pile of clothes he was sorting through. 

"Ms. Masters is definitely going to want to see these," Sam replied, pulling out his cell phone and snapping photos of everything he found. "From the looks of it, Zachariah has about $30,000 in the bank. You're definitely entitled to a part of that, especially if you were the only one working for the past few months." 

"But what I did was illegal," Lucifer protested, coming over to look around Sam at the papers. 

"That won't matter if you have immunity," Sam replied. "Besides, you told me that you were the one who did all of the cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping, right? That counts toward this sort of thing, too." 

"Why does he have this much money?" Lucifer asked, trying to puzzle it all out. 

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, but he's a control freak, right? Maybe he just didn't feel safe unless he had a certain amount in savings." 

"But there were days when we didn't even eat!" Lucifer gave Sam a wide-eyed look. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe not," Sam replied, privately thinking that Zachariah probably -had- eaten on those days and Lucifer just hadn't realized it. "But, it's good. It means that you're in better shape than we thought, assuming we win a case against him. Which we will," he said decisively, pocketing his cell phone. "Now, let's get you packed up." 

For a while, they were silent as Lucifer handed Sam clothes to put in the bag. When they got to the clothes he'd worn as a prostitute, Sam had to swallow hard a few times, imagining Lucifer wearing a few of the choicer items. He desperately hoped that they could play dress-up at some point.

Eventually, the piles of clothes had been gone through, the bathroom had been raided, and a few trinkets and a book or two had been added to the bag. Lucifer then carefully got on his hands and knees and started rummaging under the bed. He pulled out an old beat-up suitcase that held his paints, brushes, thinner, and the like. Before he could pick it up, Sam said, "Hey, let me, you're not supposed to lift anything." Sam took it by the handle, and hefted it up onto the bed. "What's this?" he asked. 

"Painting stuff," Lucifer replied, as he pulled out an old, battered easel. He didn't even try to lift it, instead letting Sam manhandle it into a leaning position against the wall. "If it's too big, we can leave the easel here." 

"No, it's fine," Sam replied. "We'll get it into the car somehow. ...I didn't know you painted," he added. 

"Well...I'm not actually good or anything," Lucifer said with a shrug, as he pulled out a couple of half-finished canvases and set them up on the bed. 

_Why do those look so familiar?_ Sam asked himself, frowning down at the partial paintings as he carefully put them into the duffel. "I think these look nice," he said aloud. "I know they aren't finished, but the way you mix the colors is really amazing."

Lucifer gave Sam a small, shy smile in return, and then walked over to an obscure corner of the room and grunted as he stretched up to pull a painting off of the wall. Meanwhile, Sam's eyes widened considerably. "Wait--you did that?" he asked. "I assumed it was a print! ...May I?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching for the painting so he could get a better look. 

Lucifer handed the painting to Sam (he was glad; he probably shouldn't have taken it down himself, as his ribs were protesting even the simple stretching motion). "Yeah, I did it," he replied, watching Sam look over the painting--of a nearby overpass with some colorful graffiti on it with the bay in the background. "The one in the living room too." Sam seemed enraptured, and Lucifer seized the moment. He took a deep breath, and then said, "I should probably tell you something, but I don't know if you'll believe me. It's kind of crazy." 

Sam looked up from the painting and met Lucifer's eyes. "I'll try," he promised. "You can tell me anything, Luce."

Lucifer took a second deep breath. "You know that painting in your bedroom?"

Sam held Lucifer's eyes without comprehension for a few moments before they widened, and he began to shake his head. "No way." So much for his promise, but to be fair, it _was_ an enormous coincidence. 

Lucifer just nodded tiredly, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "I painted it. Apparently Zachariah sold it a few months ago. And somehow, you must have bought it." 

"Lucifer, that painting is _beautiful_ ," Sam told him, carefully setting the one he was holding down before taking a seat next to Lucifer. "I love it; it reminds me of the impressionists. And the color--the color is exquisite." He began to put pieces together in his head, and realized that yes, the painting he owned was similar in many ways to the three he'd just seen. "Though," he admitted, "I remember thinking that the painter must've been very happy when he painted it. I guess I was wrong about that." 

"Thank you," Lucifer replied quietly, at all of the praise, though he was blushing. "And--you weren't wrong. I painted it a long time ago, when Zachariah wasn't...well, like he is now. We'd gone hiking and watched the sunrise together. I made it for our anniversary. I -was- happy; I didn't know any better. I didn't know better was possible," he clarified, giving Sam a meaningful look. He was, quite frankly, head over heels in love with Sam at this point. Maybe that wasn't healthy; it was awfully soon after Zachariah and he'd literally known Sam for less than a week, but he didn't care. Sam was kind, and caring, and gentle...not to mention /hot/. 

Unfortunately, Sam wasn't quite on the same wavelength at the moment. "You made it for your anniversary and he -sold- it?" he blurted out. "That...oh, Lucifer, I'm so sorry. What a dick." Without thinking, he put his arms around Lucifer again. "Did he sell others?"

"Probably," Lucifer replied. "We had a bunch in storage with some other things." He leaned into Sam, liking the feel of the other man's arms around him. Looking up, the indignant look on Sam's face, and the fact that he knew it was on his behalf, made him melt a little. He couldn't help himself, and stretched up a bit to press his lips to Sam's. His mouth was too sore to attempt to deepen the kiss, but he had been craving some sort of contact.

Sam let Lucifer take the lead, closing his eyes and keeping his lips pressed carefully against Lucifer's. When Lucifer pulled back, he opened his eyes and smiled. "I thought we were going to stay friends?" he asked, though his eyes were sparkling. 

"What, friends don't kiss?" Lucifer feigned innocence. 

Sam laughed, and released Lucifer from the circle of his arms. "Not usually." 

"Oops," Lucifer replied with a grin. "Is it weird that I kind of like that you have that painting?"

Sam considered the question, and then shook his head. "No. Hell of a coincidence, though."

"Right?" Lucifer replied. "I thought someone was pranking me when I saw it." 

"I can only imagine," Sam chuckled. "But, Luce, you have -real- talent. I paid a lot for that painting. The gallery owner said that she wished that she had more of them. If you wanted, I'm sure we could get her to sell others." 

"Yeah?" Lucifer couldn't quite bring himself to believe what Sam was saying, but he still liked the sound of it. 

"Yeah," Sam replied firmly. He knew it would take time for Lucifer to believe anything good about himself, but he was determined to make sure that he did. Sam already had plans to introduce Lucifer to the gallery owner once he was feeling better--assuming Lucifer actually wanted to sell his paintings, of course. Sam wouldn't blame him if he wanted to keep them. "Okay. Let's get the painting in the living room and get everything downstairs. You can keep an eye on it all while I bring the car so we can load it up and get you home." 

Home. Of course Sam's house was home to Sam, but Lucifer found himself hoping that one day, he might be lucky enough to refer to it as home, too.


	10. Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lucifer visit the art gallery where Sam found Lucifer's painting. When they get home, there is smut.

A great deal happened over the next few weeks. For the first week or two, Lucifer concentrated on healing, and Sam and Ellen and Jo spoiled him rotten. He found out that Ellen was an old friend of Sam's family. She was mostly retired, but had needed a little extra income, so Sam had suggested she become his cook. Likewise, Jo was going to college and needed flexible working hours that could change from semester to semester. Both of them seemed to truly enjoy working for Sam and had nothing but good things to say about him. Once they found out that Sam liked Lucifer as more than just a friend and that he felt the same way, they peppered him with advice and complicated schemes for how best to get Sam to relax the rule that Lucifer had to stay in the guest room, at least until everything but his arm had healed.

Lucifer liked the fact that he wasn't the only 'stray' that Sam had picked up; it helped assuage his fears that Sam was only helping him so he could use him, like Zachariah had. Lucifer also had a very frank conversation with Ellen one day, in which he admitted that he was worried about what would happen if Sam got angry with him. Ellen assured him that (a) Sam getting angry was a rare occurrence, and (b) when it happened, Sam handled it like an adult. According to Ellen, Sam would excuse himself and go calm down somewhere else, then return when he could be rational about things. It sounded like heaven to Lucifer. 

Meg and Sam worked together to first help Lucifer get a copy of his birth certificate, and then his social security card. Once he had those, Sam took him to a credit union on Sam's lunch break so he could open an account. Sam and Ellen taught Lucifer about budgeting his money (Sam was giving him a small allowance until he was well enough to work), balancing his checkbook, and other important skills that Zachariah had never bothered to teach him. Meg managed to get the key to the storage facility from Zachariah's slimy, weaselly lawyer, Crowley, and the three (with Crowley looking over their shoulder) picked up the few paintings of Lucifer's that Zachariah hadn't sold and a few personal items before handing the key back. Unbeknownst to Crowley, Lucifer had agreed to file a civil suit against Zachariah, and Meg was taking care of all of the paperwork for that. Detective Carter called occasionally, to keep them updated on the progress of the criminal case (it was going well). Meg and Sam were waiting to teach Lucifer how best to testify until the court dates got closer. 

Some organizations Meg worked with were able to help get Lucifer in to see a low-cost therapist three times a week. Garth Fitzgerald IV was an odd duck, but sometimes he had Lucifer laughing so hard his ribs ached, and sometimes he had Lucifer weeping the entire session. Most importantly, he was slowly starting to help Lucifer heal mentally, which turned out to be just as important as his physical healing. Lucifer had had no idea how deep his mental wounds ran, and sometimes it felt like in therapy he took two steps backward for every step forward. Overall, however, it was good for him. Sam took him to see Garth after he got home from work, and never asked him about the sessions at all, except to confirm that Lucifer felt as if they were helping him. Lucifer knew Zachariah would have grilled him about the sessions, but Garth was helping him explore all of the ways that his relationship with Sam differed from his toxic relationships with his father and Zachariah. Allowing him to keep what happened in his therapy sessions to himself was clearly one of those ways.

Lucifer and Sam also had time to actually get to know one another. They shared no more than gentle touches and chaste kisses in those first few weeks, but it was abundantly clear that neither of them wanted to be *just* friends once Lucifer was better. They spent many evenings on the couch together, with Lucifer watching TV and Sam typing on his laptop, occasionally sharing thoughts or jokes. Ellen saw to it that whenever possible they ate meals together, and the conversation always came easy--even after Lucifer had been weaned off of the pain medication that had made him so talkative when he'd first gotten out of the hospital. Lucifer learned all about Sam's family and background and as much about his cases as Sam could share. He realized that Sam worked long hours every day so that he could help the people whose cases he'd taken. Sam learned a little about Lucifer's family, and more about his background. He loved to get Lucifer talking about painting, though, because Lucifer would light up and could talk about it for hours on end. Sam wasted little time in setting up Lucifer's easel in the backyard, so that he could paint a landscaped fountain that had caught his eye. Lucifer couldn't actually stand very long without resting at first, but he appreciated the gesture nevertheless. Sam very much encouraged him to paint, and had even scheduled a meeting with the owner of the gallery where Sam had bought Lucifer's painting once he found out that Lucifer did want to try to sell a few of the paintings that Zachariah hadn't already sold.

Later on, Lucifer met Benny, who agreed to take Lucifer on as a busboy and ultimately a part-time cook on a trial basis once everything but his arm was fully healed. Lucifer had learned he could take the bus from near Sam's place to a stop near the restaurant, and Benny and Lucifer agreed on times Lucifer could work that would work well for both of them. Benny had claimed that Lucifer was too skinny, and had insisted on feeding him once they'd worked out all of the details. With all due respect to Ellen, who was an excellent cook, Lucifer thought that Benny's gumbo was the best thing he'd ever tasted. When he had said as much to Sam, Sam had just laughed and agreed--out of Ellen's earshot, of course. 

In this whirlwind that had become his life, Lucifer managed to get to a clinic and get tested. It turned out he was positive for syphilis, but he'd gotten the necessary injection of penicillin about a week ago and was now considered uninfected. While Lucifer couldn't be 100% sure he was HIV free, the fact that he'd had a negative test at about three weeks was a good sign, and made him feel better about his plans for tonight. Ellen and Jo were in on said plans, and had helped him out with a few things. He was a bit shocked, but quite happy, to realize that he now had a circle of friends beyond Sam.

At the moment, he and Sam were in the car headed to the gallery. They had the handful of canvases Lucifer was interested in selling in the back. Sam's car had a fancy GPS, and it was keeping him on track in the mire of traffic that was Oakland. Lucifer was watching Sam, and, though he didn't know it, had a bit of a dopey smile on his face. When Sam glanced over, he grinned in response. _God, those dimples,_ Lucifer mused. He was really looking forward to tonight. 

The two enjoyed a companionable silence until Sam found a parking space near the gallery. They got out, and Lucifer extracted the paintings and handed them over to Sam, who was still the designated pack horse even though Lucifer's ribs were feeling _much_ better. "Wow," Lucifer said, when he turned to see the gallery. It was an upscale place near some specialized clothing boutiques, and the paintings and sculptures in the window positively reeked of opulence. "Are you sure about this? Maybe we should try somewhere a little, I dunno, less...fancy?" 

"I'm sure. When I explained what had happened, Bela told me I wasn't allowed to take you anywhere else until she had seen your other paintings," Sam replied. "I didn't tell her the whole story," he added hastily. "She just knows that I invited you over to my house, you saw the painting, and said that you'd painted it."

"I appreciate that," Lucifer replied, smiling, but he had anticipated the remark. Sam was incredibly thoughtful, and took care to never share more details regarding their relationship or background than Lucifer was comfortable with. With Sam's assurance, he walked up to the door of the gallery and held it open for Sam, who walked through carrying the paintings. Lucifer followed him in.

An attractive brunette woman with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail glanced at them from where she was chatting with an older man in a suit in front of a nearby sculpture. She waved them toward the back of the gallery, and Sam dutifully headed in that direction, finding a desk that he could lean the canvases up against. Lucifer, however, went more slowly, looking over the pieces of art on display. His eyes nearly fell out of his head when he finally got close enough to spot the tastefully placed price tags. There was _no way_ that his paintings were good enough to be here. 

The brunette, apparently done speaking with the older man, appeared suddenly at his shoulder. "Hello," she said, holding out a hand to shake. "I'm Bela. You must be the anonymous artist!" 

"Hmm?" Lucifer gave her a confused look as he shook her hand. 

"Oh, the man who brought your paintings in the first time said that you wanted to remain anonymous," she explained, turning to walk back toward the desk where Sam was waiting. "Hello, Sam," she said with a dazzling smile, which he returned. 

Lucifer followed her, feeling a pang of jealousy when Sam smiled at the woman. Those were -his- dimples, damn it! Well, not technically, but they would be if he had anything to say about it. 

"Hello Bela," Sam replied. "This is Lucifer, the artist I told you about. We brought some paintings in for you to look at."

"Wonderful," she said. "Have a seat, and I'll take a look at these." She turned a light on over the desk and proceeded to lay one of the canvases out and study it. "Have you worked with a gallery before, Lucifer?" she asked, as she set the canvas aside and picked up another. 

"No, I haven't," Lucifer admitted. "How does it work?"

"Well," Bela explained, "This sort of thing is actually pretty rare. Normally, you start out putting your art at coffee shops or something like that, do some shows of your own, and then, if you're lucky and a good artist, get into some galleries that specialize in emerging artists. However, this gallery specializes in local artists painting local scenes," she explained, swapping that canvas for a third, "Plus, your paintings were quite popular when they were here. Now, you have to understand a few things. Art galleries don't make as much money as you probably think they do. We have a lot of expenses. And, we have a lot of artists who want to work with us. Luckily for you, one of our artists just left to work with a gallery in New York, so we have an opening. Sam also said that you were someone who was easy to work with, and I'm taking his word on that. I don't deal with temperamental artists." 

Lucifer gave Bela his best non-temperamental look, and nodded along as she spoke. Sam had gotten up, and was walking through the gallery looking at the art. Lucifer loved the way that Sam trusted him to handle things like this on his own. "Typically, the split between a gallery and an artist is about 50%. For new artists, and especially since I'm taking a chance on you, I'd ask for 60% for the first few paintings, which would be on consignment--we'd both get paid when they sold." She glanced up at him as she looked over another painting. "If they prove to be popular, then we can go to 50%, and I can pay you up front for most of them. I can also put you in touch with collectors, who might ask for commissions and the like. If you're lucky." She paused to peer intently at the painting in front of her. 

"I understand," Lucifer said. 50% of the prices on the art in this gallery still represented a substantial sum of money--much more than he'd ever thought he would make. 

"Understand this as well," Bela said. "There's no guarantee that I'll sell your paintings, and I'm not required to have them all visible at any point in time. I'll probably hang one and put the rest in the back for now. At any time, I can decide they're not selling well or that they don't fit in this gallery, and I can give them back to you, unsold. You're more likely to get sales if you do some of the pitching yourself--going on social media and encouraging your friends and followers to check out your paintings in this gallery. More bodies through the door means more chances for you to sell your paintings." 

Lucifer nodded again. While he knew next to nothing about social media, he figured that his new friends would help him figure it out. 

"I'd also like you to come to our shows. We have one every week or two, and when we do, I make sure that every artist that attends has at least one painting up. You get to talk with the collectors themselves, and they get to meet the artists. There's wine, and hors d'oeuvres. You don't have to dress up or anything; some of the collectors actually like seeing paint stains on their artists," she shot a smile at him. "You don't -have- to talk, but the more you do, the more likely you sell paintings. Okay. Here's what I'm going to do," she said. "If you're certain you want to sell these, I will take these two," she indicated two paintings, including the one of the overpass, "On consignment at 60%. Now this one," she said, pointing to his painting of the Golden Gate, "I'm pretty sure I can sell. I would be willing to give you 40% for it right now, or if you can leave it on consignment, I'll only take 50%. How does that sound?"

Lucifer leaned back in his chair a little. It was a lot to process--thank goodness he was off all of the pain medication. "That...honestly, that sounds amazing," he replied. "If possible, I'd actually like the 40% now; I got hurt," he explained, giving his cast a little wave, "and it would be nice to have the money sooner rather than later." 

"I completely understand," Bela said, beaming at him. "Let me just get out the paperwork, and you can fill it out and sign it. While you're doing that, I'll write you a check." She opened a desk drawer and found a file, withdrawing a couple of sheets stating exactly what she had just told him. "I promise, these forms are completely legal--Sam actually helped us make sure of that," she called, including Sam in the conversation. 

"They are," Sam called back, as he began to make his way back toward the back again. Lucifer, meanwhile, read the papers carefully (as Sam and Meg had taught him) and then filled in a description and the title of each painting Bella was going to take and signed them. 

"Excellent, I have the perfect spot for this one," Bela said, indicating the painting of the bridge as she signed off on the papers as well and then wrote out a check. "Let me just make copies of these, and you can take them, and we're all set until something sells." She turned around to use the little copy machine behind her. 

Sam came up and laid a hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "Did it go well?" he asked. 

Lucifer beamed up at him. "I sold the one of the Golden Gate, and she's taking two more on consignment!" he said excitedly. 

"That's wonderful!" Sam enthused. "I -told- you you were an excellent painter. See, it's not just me buttering you up because I want in your pants." 

Lucifer tried not to let his brain short-circuit at the mention of butter and Sam and pants in the same sentence. Instead, he stood up and hugged Sam tightly. Sam kept his return hug gentle, but it was still enthusiastic. "We'll have to celebrate tonight," Sam suggested. 

"I have the perfect idea," Lucifer said, grinning back at him. Now his plans for the evening would be even more timely. 

"Oh? Care to share?" Sam asked. 

"Not until we get home," Lucifer replied, though he figured that Sam had some idea of what he was planning just from the look on his face. 

"All right." Sam kissed his nose, and then they both turned back to Bela as she handed over the papers and the check, grinning at the two of them. 

"I see how it is now," she said teasingly. "No wonder Sam only calls when he's interested in art." She gave a fake pout, and then handed the canvases she hadn't chosen back to Sam. "I'll call you if and hopefully when something sells," she assured Lucifer, as she walked back to the door of the gallery with them.

"Thanks, Bela." Lucifer helped Sam get the canvases back in the car, and then they got in and headed back toward Sam's house. Lucifer still couldn't believe that he'd actually sold a painting and was working with a gallery! He viewed painting as a hobby, not his job...but who knew, maybe one day he'd be able to make a living at it. All of the excitement made him bold, and he turned to Sam. "So," he said, "This means I have my own money now. And I start at Benny's on Monday."

"It does," Sam replied cheerfully, glancing over at Lucifer. "I'm so proud of you, Luce." 

"And...the doctors say I can start lifting things again tomorrow. I'm off the meds, and I feel much better." Lucifer couldn't stop grinning. "And, I'm not infectious any more." He'd told Sam about the syphilis infection. Sam had taken it in stride, and gotten tested himself, only to find that he was clean. 

"Okay..." Sam gave him a sidelong glance, not entirely sure (but slightly hopeful) about where this conversation was going. 

"So, once I cash the check from Bella, I should be able to move into my own place." Lucifer would have never dared to say something like that to Zachariah, but he was now more than comfortable enough around Sam to tease him. 

"What?" There was nearly an accident as Sam turned his head to gape at Lucifer--at least until Lucifer started laughing at him. 

"I'm joking, I'm joking," Lucifer assured him. "I don't want to move out." Sam turned red and muttered under his breath about Lucifer being as big of a jerk as Dean. "What I -meant- to say is that, thanks to you, I'm practically independent at this point. So...I'd like to celebrate tonight by seeing if we can be more than just friends. In fact, I'd like to explore that idea thoroughly. In bed."

Now Sam was a completely different color of red, and his pants were starting to feel a little tight. He swallowed hard, and then admitted, "I'd like that. Do you want to top this time?"

"You'd let me do that?" Lucifer asked, raising his eyebrows. Sam never ceased to amaze him.

"If you want," Sam replied with a shrug. He may have sped up the car a little, in order to make it home faster. "I usually top, but I don't mind bottoming."

"It's been ages," Lucifer breathed, "But...yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." He leaned over to give Sam's cheek a kiss. "You're too good to me. Can...I know it's really early, but can I call you my boyfriend?"

"I'd love that, as long as I can call you mine," Sam replied, glancing over at the angel in his passenger seat. "Of course, I'll have to take you on a proper date soon." 

"What, the hospital and my therapist don't count?" Lucifer sassed. He couldn't wait until they were home; his heart was already beating hard enough he thought it would come out of his chest. He shifted in his seat, his pants now uncomfortably tight as well. 

Sam shot him a grin. "If they do, then you're the cheapest date I've ever had. Are you okay there?" he teased, giving Lucifer's crotch a significant glance. 

"Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself," Lucifer retorted, before reaching out to set his hand on Sam's thigh...and then slide it higher. 

"Hey, not while I'm driving, it's not safe!" Sam protested. Lucifer laughed, but slid his hand back down. He left it on Sam's thigh, however.

"Does this car go any faster?" Lucifer asked, innocently. 

Sam gave him a glare, and then sped up again. "If I get a ticket..." 

"Oooh, will you spank me?" Lucifer was in his element now. 

"I just might," Sam grumbled, though there was no heat in it. He wouldn't, of course; even if Lucifer wanted him to, he wasn't going to do anything to cause any physical hurt until he was sure Lucifer was in a better mental space. 

Eventually (and thankfully without an appearance by the boys in blue), the two tumbled into Sam's house. There was actually candlelight coming from the dining room, but they didn't make it that far. Sam had pushed Lucifer up against the wall next to the door, and was devouring his mouth. Lucifer was responding very much in kind, growling occasionally as he tugged Sam down by the back of his head so he could have better access. 

The two kissed for a while, and then started making their way upstairs toward Sam's bedroom. Knowing that Ellen and Jo were gone for the day, Lucifer and Sam left a trail of clothes up the steps and down the hallway, stopping every few feet to reacquaint themselves with the other's mouth. As skin was bared, it was touched, tasted, and generally worshiped. 

Soon, Sam's bedroom door was open, and the two practically fell into his enormous bed, rutting against each other in their excitement. It was hard to tell who was louder; they were both being rather vocal about how much they were enjoying themselves. 

Lucifer rolled Sam onto his back, and then kissed his way down that amazing chest to Sam's impressive length. "Wanna condom?" he panted, as he started kissing it.

"Huh?" Sam didn't immediately understand, but then Lucifer licked all the way up his length and he got the idea. "No," he gasped, throwing his head back and letting out a long moan. He wouldn't wish the taste of a condom on anyone, and he knew that the likelihood that Lucifer had anything and would actually transmit anything via oral sex was small. "Oh, god, _Lucifer_!"

As soon as he had the answer to his question, Lucifer had swallowed as much of Sam as he could manage. He worked the rest with his hand, smearing his saliva around for lubrication. Once he got a little more comfortable, he began bobbing his head up and down, using every trick that he'd ever learned to make it a mind-blowing experience. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Sam chanted, fisting his hands in the bedspread. It wasn't going to take him long to come at all, at this rate. Maybe Lucifer -was- the correct name for the man in front of him; he was doing things with his tongue that Sam had never experienced before but already wanted to experience again. 

Lucifer grinned around Sam's length, and started humming his favorite song (Stairway to Heaven). Sam actually shouted at this, so Lucifer kept it up. 

In a fairly short amount of time, Sam managed to gasp, "I'm close, Luce." He wasn't sure what Lucifer was planning, but desperately hoped he wouldn't stop now. His toes were curled, and he just wanted release. "Please," he begged. 

Lucifer took Sam as deep as he dared, and then swallowed as he fondled the other man's balls. Sam actually screamed and arched his back when he came, and Lucifer swallowed as much of his release as he could. Sam flopped back down to the bed, and looked down at Lucifer in wonder. "Holy shit, Luce," he said weakly. 

"Mmm, liked that?" Lucifer asked, as he slowly kissed his way back up Sam. 

"Very much," Sam panted, unable to get his breath back. 

"Good, now you're relaxed," Lucifer replied, sitting up a little to reach into the nightstand for some lube, a condom, and a towel. He didn't want to make a mess on Sam's bed, as he was hoping they could share it later. "God, you look beautiful like that," he said, leaning down again to kiss Sam. 

Sam returned the kiss, and drew his knees up. "Want me like this?" he asked, when Lucifer broke away. 

"Yes, perfect, I want to see your face," Lucifer replied. He sat up, and covered his fingers in lube before gently inserting one, making Sam groan. "Oh god, you're so tight," Lucifer moaned. He worked his finger in and out for a while before slowly adding a second one and starting to scissor Sam open. 

To his surprise, Sam was getting hard again. He hadn't been able to have multiple orgasms in a row since he was a teenager. There was just something about Lucifer, though--the way he smelled, the way he felt; Sam wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure he was addicted to it. Given their current positioning, he reached out to tweak the barbells in Lucifer's nipples, enjoying the sounds Lucifer made even more than being able to play with them. "So gorgeous," he gasped, pausing a moment to run a hand through Lucifer's hair. 

"Shit, Sam," Lucifer didn't even have the mental energy to be proud of his alliteration. He just added another finger, trying to give as good as he got. When he was sure Sam was thoroughly stretched, he pulled his fingers out and covered himself with a condom. They both groaned as he lined himself up and began slowly pushing into Sam. "So tight," he managed to gasp out. 

"Been...a...while," Sam panted, rolling his hips to let Lucifer know that he could start moving whenever he wanted. 

Lucifer didn't need to be told twice, and was soon thrusting into Sam. It had been since before Zachariah that he'd topped, and he'd forgotten how good it could feel. As he started getting closer, he reached down to stroke Sam. "You close again?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Sam gasped. The feeling of Lucifer's piercing rubbing against his prostate was electrifying. "Just...a little...more..." 

Lucifer did his best to oblige Sam, though he came immediately when he felt Sam's muscles clench down on him. They orgasmed together, and then Lucifer collapsed on top of Sam, careful not to smack him in the face with his cast or anything. 

"Wow," Sam managed finally. 

"Yeah. Wow," Lucifer agreed, picking his head up just far enough to grin down at Sam. "You're amazing." 

"No, -you're- amazing," Sam laughed, reaching for the towel so he could clean them off. 

"Oh god, don't start that," Lucifer said, as he gently pulled himself out of Sam. He rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. "...You know, there was a candlelit dinner downstairs. I'd planned to feed you before I seduced you." He removed the condom, tied it off, handed it to Sam, since he knew where the wastebasket was. The hamper was plainly visible, so Lucifer took the towel from Sam and tossed it in. 

"We can heat it up," Sam replied, throwing the condom into the trash. "Just as soon as I remember how to move." 

"Can we snuggle first?" Lucifer asked, turning back to Sam. 

"Sure, if by snuggle you mean pass out for a while," Sam snarked back, but he rolled toward Lucifer and then spent a few moments pulling the comforter down and then up over the two of them. 

"I love you, boyfriend," Lucifer said, wrapping his arms around Sam. 

"I love you too, Luce," Sam replied, and returned the favor so they could fall asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I have learned much more about art than I ever wanted to.


	11. Before the trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zachariah appears in court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, RL is eating me alive. So here's some fluff and some bits of plot that don't quite make a chapter but don't quite not make a chapter either. The chapter after this will be the trial, and then there will be a fluffy epilogue, because every story needs a fluffy epilogue. Hopefully I will be able to wrap this story up by the weekend or, at worst, early next week :).

Two notable events occurred before Zachariah went to trial. A few days later, both Sam and Lucifer found themselves looking up at the painting above the bed. "Should I take it down?" Sam asked softly. "It must remind you of him."

"No," Lucifer replied, shaking his head and reaching out so he could intertwine his fingers with Sam's. "It sounds silly," and Sam knew this was code for 'artistic' or 'emotional,' "but...I was happy when I made it, and I'm happy now. Happiness reminds me of you." Lucifer colored a little, then added, "Plus, I like that you found it and you liked it, without knowing anything about it."

"Just like I found and liked you?" Sam teased lightly, turning to kiss Lucifer on the nose.

"Yeah," Lucifer replied shyly, though he reached out and pulled Sam into a kiss that quickly deepened. Soon, Lucifer wasn't the only one with flushed cheeks.

The other thing that happened was that Dean called Sam a few weeks later, so the two could plan their annual meetup in Vegas. Sam, of course, mentioned that he was seeing someone, and Dean had to know all about him. 

"What's he do, Sammy? Please tell me he's not another lawyer."

"No, Dean," Sam replied with an eyeroll and a mild bitchface. "He paints--and he also works at Benny's to supplement his income. You should see his paintings, Dean, they're absolutely gorgeous," Sam said, gushing a little. "He did one of the bridge when it was foggy that was absolutely stunning. Somehow he managed to get the exact color of the fog when light is shining through--" Dean had started to snicker a little. "What?" Sam demanded. When Dean just kept snickering rather than reply, he repeated, more loudly, "WHAT, Dean?"

"Does he--ahahahaha--does he paint you like one of his French girls?" Dean demanded, before dissolving into belly laughter. 

Sam hung up on him.

\----------------------------------

Zachariah's criminal trial was a few months later, in the early summer. Sam, Meg, and the prosecutor, a man named Gadreel, had all worked together on the case, although technically it was Gadreel's. Zachariah was being charged with a variety of things, including corporal injury, pandering, and prostitution, all of which had fairly large minimum sentences. Gadreel had been only too happy to give Lucifer immunity to any prostitution charges in exchange for the chance to level additional charges at Zachariah. Apparently, Zachariah had made himself extremely unpopular within the system by denying everything and being thoroughly uncooperative with everyone (including, some said, his lawyer, although that was unsubstantiated). 

Lucifer became more and more nervous as the trial approached, to the point of having panic attacks. Both Sam and Garth did their best to soothe and reassure him, while providing him with healthy coping mechanisms, but it was difficult; Lucifer did not ever want to see Zachariah again. He didn't want to have to go through the attack again, either, even if it would only be mentally. Sam and Meg and Gadreel coached Lucifer about how to testify, and went over and over the most likely questions that would be asked until he felt prepared, but he was still shaking like a leaf the night before the trial. Sam was on the couch, holding Lucifer in his lap and murmuring reassurances. "It'll be all right," he promised. "I'll be there. Ellen will be there. Benny will be there. All you have to do is look at us, and pretend you're talking to us, pretend that there's no one else in the room."

"What if--what if no one believes me?" It wasn't the first time Lucifer had voiced this concern.

"They will. Remember, we talked to Detective Carter. All the evidence backs up your story." In this situation, others might have become frustrated, but Sam seemed to have all the patience in the world--he just kept repeating his assurances as his hand rubbed circles in Lucifer's lower back. 

"What if he gets out?" Lucifer knew he sounded pitiful, and he hated himself for feeling this way, for being this upset--but he couldn't stop himself. Garth had told him repeatedly that it was okay to express his feelings, no matter what they were, but he knew he sounded like a broken record. How Sam could put up with his behavior was beyond him--but Lucifer was extremely thankful that Sam did. 

"I don't think he will. But IF he does, we'll deal with it. Together," Sam replied, reaching over to grab a tissue for Lucifer, who was now sniffling. "None of us are going to let him hurt you, sweetheart. He won't even be able to come near you." 

"I'm scared," Lucifer said in a tiny voice as he took the tissue and wiped at his eyes and nose. 

Sam held him a little tighter. "Anyone would be, in your situation. But you're so brave. You're going to tell the truth tomorrow, stand up to that asshole who hurt you. You're going to make it so he can't ever hurt anyone again. I'm so proud of you, Luce. All you have to do is look at me and answer the questions. Don't look anywhere else. Okay?"

"'M not brave," Lucifer mumbled into Sam's shirt. "'M a coward. Didn't even fight back." 

Sam held back a sigh. "Do you think women who are abused and don't fight back are cowards?" Always logic with the lawyer. 

"No," Lucifer mumbled, knowing it would do no good to argue. 

"Well, you're not any more of a coward than they are. Besides, if you'd fought back...who knows what would've happened. I don't know what I would do without you, Luce. It terrifies me to think of what he might have done to you. But you're safe now, and no matter what, you're going to be safe. I promise." 

"'nk oo," Lucifer murmured. 

"You're welcome." Sam held him until he fell asleep, and then carried him up and put him to bed before sliding in next to him.


	12. The trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zachariah goes on trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about trials I learned from Matlock and Perry Mason as a kid, so...I'm sorry.

The next day, there weren't many people in the courtroom. Most of those sitting there were witnesses of one sort or another, plus a few bored court reporters. Lucifer was sandwiched between Sam and Ellen, who had gotten the story out of Lucifer and then insisted on coming. Benny, who had shamelessly used a recipe to barter for the story, was sitting behind the three of them like a large bear. Detective Carter was not far away, next to a few police officers. Sam held one of Lucifer's hands, and Ellen had the other. The only person that looked like he might possibly be there to support Zachariah was a tall, nearly bald man who was sitting behind the table where Zachariah would sit.

When Zachariah was escorted in, he looked around the courtroom and then gave Lucifer a look which he clearly hoped would kill him. Sam squeezed Lucifer's hand tightly, and turned to him. "Look at me, Luce, not at him," he whispered. Lucifer did turn his head to look at Sam, but it was clear he was shaken. Meanwhile, Detective Carter and the other police officers had launched some glares of their own in Zachariah's direction, and he'd turned around and sat down beside Crowley, who wasn't looking all that happy. "Just remember what we talked about. You'll be okay, and if you have to leave, we can," Sam told Lucifer. 

Lucifer nodded at him, but returned his gaze to the front as the judge walked in. The bailiff asked for them all to stand, and they did, as the honorable judge Hannah Grace took her position up front and bade them all be seated. Sam liked the look of her immediately, and what he saw so far of the jury was positive--they were diverse, and there was an equal number of women and men. Most of them seemed to be paying attention to the proceedings.

Gadreel, and then Crowley, made their opening statements. From Crowley's opening statement, it seemed that Zachariah's defense was the (unfortunately predictable) idea that Lucifer was lying about everything to get back at his boyfriend after an argument. Sam really wasn't sure how they would explain away Lucifer's injuries, but he knew they would try; it was the nature of the game. Sam just had to hope that Gadreel, Detective Carter, and the others would be able to handle it. It was frustrating to be just a spectator rather than a participant, but at the same time, this way he was able to focus on Lucifer, who kept a death grip on his hand throughout Crowley's entire statement. 

The beginning of the trial went smoothly, with Detective Carter and other officers as well as Lucifer's doctor testifying to the evidence for each charge. The jury heard all about Lucifer's injuries, the texts between him and Zachariah, and Zachariah's arrest. They saw horrible photos of what Lucifer had looked like after the attack, copies of the texts between the two, and cell phone evidence demonstrating that Zachariah's cell had been in the vicinity of the apartment when the attack occurred, and then had moved to the bar where he'd been arrested. A doctor confirmed that when Zachariah was arrested, his knuckles were skinned and bruised, as if he'd been in a fight, and that his injuries were consistent with having caused Lucifer's. The officer that arrested Zachariah told the court how Zachariah had attempted to attack him as well as how intoxicated Zachariah had been. Garth somehow made the entire jury laugh during his admittedly somewhat strange but honest testimony regarding Lucifer's state of mind and why people who are abused typically don't fight back or try to get out of the situation until something like this happens, if then. 

Sam testified about the 911 call and what he had witnessed. When Crowley cross-examined Sam, he asked him if he had been a client of Lucifer's, and Sam was able to truthfully say that he wasn't. Neither Crowley nor Zachariah seemed to know that the two had slept together, which means they didn't try to discredit Sam and Lucifer that way. Crowley did gain a few points, however, by having Sam recount the fight he'd seen outside the truck stop and how someone other than Zachariah had hurt Lucifer that night. He also forced Sam to admit that he hadn't witnessed the altercation between Lucifer and Zachariah. Sam kept his eyes on the jury most of the time, so they could assess his truthfulness, and ignored Crowley. 

Eventually, it was Lucifer's turn to take the stand. Sam stood to give him a hug before he walked up. "Just tell the truth; they'll believe you. You can do this," Sam whispered in his ear. "Don't even look at the asshole. Pretend he's not even in the room." 

Gadreel asked his questions first, and started with some of the easier ones so that Lucifer could build his confidence. Lucifer tried not to mumble his answers, and spent the first few questions looking entirely at Sam, Ellen and Benny. Once he relaxed a little, however, he found he could look up at Gadreel and even over at the jury sometimes. His voice grew in volume, and only shrank when he had to recount some of the mental and physical abuse Zachariah had piled on him and how Zachariah had convinced him to prostitute himself. It was clear he was ashamed of not only some of the things he had done, but also of what Zachariah had done to him. In the audience, Sam cried silently through a lot of Lucifer's testimony. He'd heard it all before, but having to hear it all at once (not counting courtroom breaks) was difficult. Aside from the charge for resisting arrest, Gadreel patiently led Lucifer through a recounting of everything that was relevant to each of the charges Zachariah was facing. 

Sam did his best to encourage and support Lucifer in the evenings, after the trial had finished each day. After Lucifer began to testify, Sam told the blonde repeatedly how brave he'd been to be honest about everything, and that Lucifer was doing a great job of giving testimony. Lucifer seemed to appreciate this, and spent as much time as he could in Sam's arms, just wanting to hear the other man's heartbeat. 

Back in the courtroom, Sam took a deep breath when Crowley finally stood up to cross-examine Lucifer. He knew that this particular interaction could make or break their case; if Crowley managed to catch Lucifer in a lie or discredit him somehow, the jury might side with Zachariah despite all of the evidence against him. 

"Mr. Shurley," Crowley began by smiling smarmily at the jury, "I just have a few questions for you. First, forgive me, but the information from the doctor's testimony says that you're over six feet and, again, forgive me, implies that you're in your prime. Zachariah is considerably older than you. Could you explain to me why, when he allegedly rushed at you and struck you, you didn't attempt to strike back?" Sam wanted to kill the smug Brit, but thankfully Ellen grabbed his hand and squeezed, preventing him from doing anything unlawyer-like. 

Lucifer took a deep breath, and looked straight at Sam. They'd known Crowley would likely ask this question, and Lucifer had practiced his answer. Sam just hoped that Lucifer would remember what they'd talked about; this topic was incredibly difficult for Lucifer, because he still didn't really understand his own actions, even though Garth and he had spent quite a bit of time exploring them. "My father beat me frequently when I was a child. If I moved when he hit me, the beating was worse. So--so when I get hit," he said, stammering slightly, "I freeze. I don't even think of defending myself. I don't know how, really." Sam gave Lucifer a large grin, and nodded. Lucifer had made it over the first hurdle. 

"Mm-hmm," Crowley responded, sounding as if he didn't believe Lucifer. "And when you were prostituting yourself, you allege that Mr. Noble took all of the money. But you benefited from that money as well, didn't you? It paid your rent and grocery bills, among other things, didn't it?"

"Yes," Lucifer replied, "But--"

"Just answer the question, Mr. Shurley," Crowley said breezily as he cut him off. Now Ellen was gripping Sam's hand _hard_ , and Sam was grinding his teeth so loudly he figured that the reporters in the back could hear it. Garth had pulled out Mr. Fizzles, and Judge Grace was eyeing him and the puppet dubiously as it appeared to cheer Lucifer on. "Now, let's go back to the subject of prostitution. To be clear, you were offered immunity for the prostitution charges that you would otherwise face in return for your testimony against my client. Is that true?"

"Yes." This time Lucifer didn't even try for a 'but.' However, he took a deep breath and looked over at the jury, attempting to show them that he was being honest and that there was more to the story. Sam wanted to kiss him right then and there; Lucifer couldn't have done a better job answering that question. 

"In other words, this story that you've concocted benefits you by keeping you out of jail," Crowley noted. Gadreel narrowed his eyes this time, and Crowley seemed to realize that he was toeing the line in terms of questioning, so he quickly moved on. "Mr. Shurley, you said that my client, Mr. Noble, forced you to take up prostitution on...let's see. September 17th of this past year. Mr. Shurley, could you please tell the jury whether or not that was the first time you engaged in prostitution?" 

"...No." Lucifer looked down at his hands in shame. Luckily, Sam and Gadreel were aware of this and had tried to prepare Lucifer for this line of questioning, but neither was sure what would happen when Crowley pursued it--it could very possibly make the jury less sympathetic to Lucifer. "When I was fifteen," Lucifer added slowly, although speaking more quickly would make it less likely for Crowley to cut him off, "I was out on the streets with no money. So I worked as a prostitute, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. Zachariah was one of my clients back then, which is where he got the idea for it." 

Crowley's smile faltered slightly, and Sam wanted to punch the air. He was so proud that Lucifer had managed to work in the little detail about being underage. The statute of limitations for statutory rape had long since expired, but that didn't mean that they couldn't use the information to sway the jury. Crowley was a good lawyer, however, and he promptly asked, "And what age did you tell Zachariah you were when you first met?"

Lucifer looked over at his friends and lover again, and chose his words carefully. "I didn't admit I was fifteen until just before the second time I had sex with Zachariah. The first time, I lied and told him I was eighteen." Sam gave Lucifer another grin--a couple of the jurors were now looking at Zachariah with disgust. 

Crowley was unhappy, but determined to make the best of it. "So, you admit you lied," he emphasized. "How do we know that you're not lying now, especially since putting all the blame for the prostitution on Mr. Noble allows you to go free?" It was a question Gadreel probably should have objected to, but Lucifer was doing so well against Crowley that the prosecutor just nodded at Lucifer, letting him know to go ahead and try to answer the question. 

"I'm not lying," Lucifer said softly, looking over at the jury. "Yes, I made mistakes and lied when I was fifteen years old and homeless and scared. I'm--I'm a better person now than I was then, and I'm telling the truth. Besides, the prosecution didn't even know about the prostitution until I told them, so I wouldn't have faced any charges." Mr. Fizzles was doing a victory dance where Judge Grace couldn't see, but Lucifer could. Lucifer found it surreal, so he did his best to ignore the puppet.

Crowley continued his cross-examination, and while he repeatedly implied that Lucifer was lying and had been attacked by someone other than Zachariah, he was unable to catch Lucifer in an outright lie. Eventually, Lucifer was dismissed from the stand; he went back to Sam in a bit of a daze, but accepted hugs and and a few discreet high-fives from his supporters before sitting back down. Zachariah had twisted around and was openly glaring at all of them, and Sam just gave him a level look in return as he blatantly placed a kiss on Lucifer's cheek.

The rest of the prosecution's case went as planned, and Gadreel rested the case soon after Lucifer had finished testifying. The defense began bringing in witnesses, mostly 'experts' who tried to refute what the prosecution's witnesses had said about Lucifer being abused, Zachariah's wounds being consistent with giving someone else a beating, and so on. During the testimony of the defense's psychologist, Mr. Fizzles mimed pooping, but unfortunately Judge Grace noticed and banned the puppet from her courtroom. Sam thought the trial was rather more interesting with the puppet around.

Gadreel was able to discredit most of the defense's witnesses or their testimony, strengthening the case against Zachariah. During breaks, he began telling Lucifer that he was confident they would win the case. 

The best thing that happened to them, however, is that Zachariah took the stand in his own defense (after a rather heated argument between him and Crowley). Lucifer was incredibly tense when Zachariah first stood up, and Sam put his arm around the blonde to offer support. He was curious as to what Crowley was doing, as Crowley had been trying to argue that someone other than Zachariah had beat Lucifer to a bloody pulp (despite the fact that the attack had taken place in the apartment and the fact that the door had been locked by someone who obviously had a key). Personally, Sam would have advised Zachariah not to take the stand, but perhaps Crowley had and had been overruled by Zachariah. 

Crowley didn't look very happy as he began to question Zachariah. "All right, Mr. Noble. Could you please walk us through what happened that afternoon, from your perspective?"

Zachariah gave the courtroom a smile. "Of course. Lucifer got out of bed and was pissy because I had sold some painting of his. I was just trying to make some honest money, since I hadn't been able to find a job and he wasn't qualified to do anything. He started yelling at me, and when I told him to be quiet, he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and came at me with it."

Sam watched the blood slowly drain from Crowley's face. This was a completely different story than the one that was in Zachariah's official statement to the police (he hadn't been at the apartment; he didn't know what had happened to Lucifer; someone else must have done it, probably one of his clients). The lawyer, however, managed to get out, "And what happened then?"

"I heard the little bitch grab the knife, so I got up and was ready when he came at me. I knocked the knife out of his hand and then I hit him. I kept hitting him until he was down, and then I grabbed the knife and put it back in the kitchen. I told him to be out of my house by the time I came back, and I left," Zachariah said smugly. The jurors were looking at each other and at Crowley in confusion. Why had they not heard this before?

Crowley tried to act as if this story was not new to him, and asked Zachariah about the other charges (Zachariah had no idea where Lucifer was getting the money he brought back from prostitution and thought he really was staying at friends' houses as he said in his texts). The entire time, however, Gadreel was leaning forward like a dog with a scent that's being held back by a leash. He had quickly scribbled some notes as he had heard Zachariah's new story, and was clearly ready to pounce on the defendant. 

Eventually, Crowley ran out of questions for Zachariah, and Gadreel immediately stood. "Mr. Noble," he said, "Can you please explain the discrepancies between your current story and the statement you gave police when they arrested you?" 

"Sure." Zachariah shrugged. "I was afraid that the police wouldn't believe me about him having a knife, so I said I wasn't there. You know how they like to frame gay men for things like this." 

"No, actually, I don't," Gadreel replied, as the police officers in the courtroom audibly protested Zachariah's statement--at least, until Judge Grace gave them a Look. "That aside," Gadreel continued, "I'm missing a few details from your story. First, could you tell us in which hand Mr. Shurley was holding the knife when he allegedly came at you?"

"His right," Zachariah said promptly. 

"Okay. Can you tell us, in detail, how you got the knife away from him? As Mr. Crowley noted earlier, my client is over six feet, in his prime, and likely has a longer reach than you. How did you avoid being cut?" Gadreel asked. Sam planned to high-five him later for using Crowley's own words against Zachariah. 

"I got inside his reach, and I knocked the knife out of his hand," Zachariah replied stubbornly. 

"Can you tell us exactly how you knocked the knife out of his hand?" Gadreel persisted. He was clearly going somewhere with this. 

"I punched the inside of his wrist and he dropped it," Zachariah replied, narrowing his eyes at the lawyer. 

"The inside of his right wrist," Gadreel repeated. "Your honor, I'd like to refer the jury back to exhibit D24. It's a picture that includes the inside of Mr. Shurley's right wrist." He retrieved it, then showed it to the judge, the jury, and then Zachariah. "Here is a picture of Mr. Shurley a day after the attack. Note that bruises can be seen elsewhere on him in this picture. Mr. Noble, can you explain why he doesn't have a bruise on the inside of his right wrist?"

Now Zachariah was glaring daggers at Gadreel as his face slowly turned bright red. "Maybe I didn't hit him that hard. I don't know; I just know he dropped the knife."

"That's interesting," Gadreel replied. "Can you think of another place where you hit him where a bruise doesn't show up in the police photos of his injuries?"

"I don't remember all the places I hit him," Zachariah nearly growled back. His fists were clenched now, and Lucifer was trying to burrow into Sam's side. "I'm sure not all of them bruised. Lucifer never bruised easily when he got hit." Crowley actually put his head in his hands at the statement. A few members of the jury were shaking their heads, clearly not believing that Zachariah had come so close to saying that he'd hit Lucifer before this altercation. 

Rather than saying anything right away, Gadreel let the silence go on, emphasizing what Zachariah just said without actively calling attention to it. Eventually, he continued. "Can you tell us what happened to the alleged knife?"

"I put it in the sink. Or I put it away," he said hastily when Gadreel looked like he was going to refer to another exhibit. "I don't remember; I was very upset at the time. I might have put it back in the drawer where we keep it." 

"So the knife was in a drawer when Lucifer first took it out?" Gadreel asked, quickly changing tactics. "The sound of the drawer opening was what made you think he was getting a knife?"

"Yes, exactly," Zachariah replied quickly, looking as if he thought he had just won the case now that the prosecutor appeared to be agreeing with him. 

"Do you keep anything besides knives in that drawer?" Gadreel asked--and once again, it looked like he was ready to show the court another exhibit.

"Yeah, so?" Zachariah's eyes narrowed again. 

"Then how did you know he had picked up a knife, and not something else, especially since it was nearly time to start fixing dinner? How did you know he wasn't retrieving a spoon or some other item from the drawer?" Gadreel asked patiently. 

"He was screaming at me, so I just assumed he was grabbing a knife and was going to try to stab me," Zachariah spat back. 

"If he was yelling so loudly, how did you hear the drawer open? In fact, wasn't the television also on at the time?" 

"I--," Zachariah had finally realized that he was in trouble. "The drawer is loud!" he insisted. 

"Weren't your hearing aids on the table next to you, instead of in your ears?" Gadreel persisted. Crowley started piling up his things, as if he wasn't planning to put any more effort into the case. 

"You can't ask me that!" Zachariah yelled, getting increasingly agitated. "He can't ask me that!" he yelled at the jury, and then pointed to Crowley. "Tell them he can't ask me that! It's a disability! He's discriminating against me because I have a disability!" Crowley just shook his head, 'I told you this was a bad idea' written all over his face. 

"Mr. Noble," snapped Judge Grace, in a tone of absolute authority. "Mr. Penikett may ask you that question. Please answer him. And please calm down, or I will find you in contempt of court." 

"Fine," Zachariah groused. "Fine. My hearing aids were in when he opened the drawer, which was loud enough to hear over his yelling AND the TV. I didn't take them out and put them on the table until after the fight, because I didn't want to hear his pathetic whining," he sneered.

"All right. Can you tell us why your hearing aids were underneath a takeout container, then?" Gadreel asked, showing the court another exhibit that contained a picture of one of Zachariah's hearing aids sticking out from underneath a container from a Chinese restaurant. The police photographer had really outdone herself on this case, and Sam made a mental note to send her a fruit basket. 

"I don't know. I guess I must have knocked the container over onto them aftewards," Zachariah maintained, crossing his arms and glaring at Gadreel.

It was fairly clear from the photo that the scenario Zachariah had described was unlikely, but Gadreel didn't press him further. "No further questions," he told the judge, and she nodded at him as he sat back down. She then asked Zachariah to resume his seat next to Crowley.

The rest of the trial, including the closing arguments, passed swiftly, and absolutely no one in the courtroom except Zachariah was surprised when the jury came back after only deliberating for an hour, with a verdict of guilty on all counts. Zachariah began to rant and rave, but aside from the bailiff and a few police officers, everyone ignored him. Sam hugged Lucifer from one side, Ellen from the other, and Benny managed to fit his arms around all three of them and give them a big bear hug. "Congratulations, cher," he rumbled. "You did it!"

"You did," Sam agreed, with what little breath he could spare. "I'm so proud of you, Luce." 

The judge called the courtroom back to order, and set a date for sentencing. She then left the courtroom. Once they had been dismissed, everyone gathered around Lucifer to congratulate him. Gadreel and Detective Carter gave him hugs and praised his testimony, while Garth made sure to tell him that he -was- a better person than Zachariah, and that the jury had seen that. Even the doctor from the hospital was there to say how glad he was that Lucifer had healed. 

Lucifer was in tears at this outpouring of support, but he hugged everyone back and thanked them profusely for all of their help along the way. Garth--well, actually, they had managed to make it out of the courtroom and Mr. Fizzles had reappeared, so, Mr. Fizzles--reminded Lucifer that he was worthy of all of the community support that he was receiving. Lucifer started sobbing at this, and Sam folded him up in his arms. 

"I think you broke him, Garth," Sam said, and everyone chuckled. "Tell you what. I'm going to take him home now, but we'll have a party at our house next Saturday, say, 5:00. You're all welcome to come and bring your significant others if you want. I'll send Gadreel directions, and he can contact you with them if you're interested." Gadreel nodded his agreement to the plan, and the group slowly broke up, leaving Lucifer, Sam, and Ellen. Sam and Ellen bundled Lucifer into the car, and they headed home.

\-----------------------------------------

The next week at the sentencing hearing, Lucifer read a victim impact statement. He told the courtroom how frightened he was that Zachariah would somehow find him and hurt him further, and then how he was terrified that this same thing could happen to the next person that Zachariah 'dated.' Most of the courtroom was nodding along with him, and no one was surprised when Judge Grace gave Zachariah the maximum sentence for most of his crimes, to be served consecutively, meaning that he'd be a very old man before he was eligible for parole. 

Sam was in the middle of hugging Lucifer after the hearing was over when he looked up to see that a handcuffed Zachariah had approached the two of them. "You're an idiot," he sneered at Sam. "He's nothing but a fucking gold digger; you'll see. He'll mooch off of you and then accuse you of beating him." 

"Actually, he made more money than I did last month," Sam somehow managed to keep his voice calm when he addressed Zachariah. He was telling the truth, too, even if it was not a typical month because he'd missed out on a number of bonuses by being in court with Lucifer, and Lucifer had had his own show, plus taken a couple of commissions that had paid half up front. 

"Doing what?" Zachariah demanded. 

Lucifer was refusing to look at Zachariah, burying his head in Sam's shoulder, but Sam had no problem meeting Zachariah's gaze as he rubbed Lucifer's back. "Painting," he replied with a smug look. "Lucifer's amazing at it. But money isn't why I feel sorry for you," he added impulsively. "Or that you're going to prison. I feel sorry for you because you'll never know what you had all those years. He loved you, and his love is worth _way_ more than money." With that, Sam turned and pulled Lucifer with him, heading toward the door. He left Zachariah gaping speechlessly in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Almost there. So much for finishing the story before the semester started... I think I'm pathologically incapable of writing short stories.


	13. The end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy epilogue.

After the debacle that was the criminal trial, Crowley somehow convinced Zachariah to settle the civil case out of court. It meant that Lucifer didn't have to see Zachariah again, so he was only too happy to accept their offer. He bought a decent used car with the money, meaning that Sam had to teach him how to drive, which was an adventure in and of itself. Lucifer liked the freedom that having his own car gave him; he no longer had to ask Sam or Ellen to take him to locations where he wanted to paint, or to the bank, or to sessions with Garth...

He and Sam had their first major fight a month or two later, about whether or not Sam was going to pay for Lucifer's health insurance so he could afford a good plan. Lucifer spent the night on Benny's couch, but at sunrise he came straight home to apologize. Sam had met him at the door with his own tearful apology, and the two had made up. 

At one of Lucifer's shows, they met a man, Balthazar Roché, who flirted outrageously with Lucifer and, when Lucifer pulled Sam over to rather pointedly introduce him as his boyfriend, immediately suggested a threesome. The pair politely declined, as they hadn't previously discussed having threesomes, but both were a little intrigued by the idea if truth be told. 

Once Lucifer had a steady income from Benny's and painting, he began to donate money to charities that supported domestic abuse survivors and street children who had been kicked out of their home for being gay. Sam more than matched his gifts, after hearing Lucifer discuss the great work that each charity was doing. The two adopted a pair of adorable pitbull mixes that had been on death row in an animal shelter, named them Dean and Michael, and proceeded to learn how much work it was to own dogs, but also what unconditional love, loyalty, and slobber looked like. 

Lucifer met the rest of the Winchesters at Christmas. Mary Winchester absolutely adored Lucifer and how happy he seemed to be making Sam. John was a little more standoffish, but was at least polite, and warmed up to Lucifer over the few days he and Sam stayed in Kansas. Lucifer and Dean got along well, and Lucifer scored some excellent blackmail stories about young Sam from his brother. Lucifer also liked Dean's wife, Lisa, and the two traded stories of what it was like to be in love with a Winchester. Ben was a typical teenager, of course, and couldn't wait to get away from his horribly embarrassing family, whereas Sarah immediately became everyone's favorite little princess. 

About a year and a half after Sam met Lucifer at the truck stop, Lucifer found himself the passenger seat of Sam's car as they drove back from a weekend in Vegas at some ungodly hour at night that Sam had insisted on for some reason Lucifer couldn't remember. He was trying to sleep, although it was difficult to do so in the small car. Lucifer didn't understand why the trip couldn't wait until morning, and had made several remarks to Sam to that effect.

Sam was acting a little oddly, but Lucifer chalked that up to Dean being a typical older brother to Sam in Vegas (especially once he found out about his namesake). It made him think of how he and Michael used to tease each other, with poor Raphael in the middle trying to get them to be nice to one another. He wondered, briefly, where his brothers were and what they were doing now before he dozed off again. 

Lucifer woke up when Sam pulled over into a gravel pullout next to the road. He could see they weren't quite over the mountains yet, and there wasn't a gas station or anything next to the pullout, so he sat up and looked questioningly at Sam, assuming he wasn't feeling well. "You okay?" he asked. 

Sam had an odd look on his face--he was grinning, but at the same time he did look a little sick. "Yeah," he replied. "I just...I want to show you something." He turned off the car, and started to get out. 

"Ooookay," Lucifer drawled, but he grabbed a hoodie and climbed out of the car after Sam. It was summer, but it was still cold up in the mountains--especially this early in the morning. Lucifer yawned and glanced at his watch. It was around 5:30, the time he and Sam normally woke. 

"Over here," Sam called, crossing the road with those long legs of his in order to step out onto a rocky outcropping that overlooked the area below. 

Lucifer shrugged the hoodie on and followed Sam, wondering what it was that Sam wanted to show him...right up until the point when he joined Sam and looked down on the valley. Below was Tioga Lake, one of many small lakes in the Sierra Nevada mountains. To the east, the sun was just touching the horizon, starting to paint the sky a variety of different colors. Evergreen trees ringed the valley until they disappeared further up at the tree line, and willows grew in clumps along the shores of the lake, forming blocky black shadows in the half-light. 

It was the location he'd painted all those years ago for Zachariah, the painting which now hung above Sam and Lucifer's bed. His breath caught, and he put a hand over his mouth. "Oh, Sam," he breathed. He watched the first few minutes of the sunrise, and then turned to his boyfriend. He was surprised when he didn't immediately spot the taller man, whom he was sure had been standing beside him just moments ago. Lucifer glanced around, and finally realized that Sam was in the same spot, only down on one knee, holding out a small object. 

Sam was now looking even more nauseous, if that was possible. When Lucifer finally made eye contact with him, however, he tried to cover it with a smile. "Lucifer Shurley," he began, his voice shaking slightly, "Will you--"

Lucifer's delighted (and a bit girly) squeal was more than answer enough to Sam's unfinished question. It was still echoing off the mountains as the two embraced each other, silhouetted by the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished it! Finally! Thank you for taking this crazy ride with me. I have anxiety disorders and perfectionistic tendencies, so it's very hard for me to do what I did here and start posting a story without having the whole thing written already, not to mention posting many of the chapters (especially the later ones) before they've had a really *thorough* editing. Hopefully I didn't make you all wait too long for anything! I'm sorry the chapter count more than doubled along the way; next time I'll just use the question mark like everyone else. 
> 
> Speaking of next time...anything in particular you'd like to see me write? I have an idea for a Gabriel does Destiel story, and of course I could add timestamps (I think that's the right word) to this universe...in fact, I can see a reunion between Lucifer and one of his brothers now... I won't promise anything aside from the fact that I'll at least consider any idea. I'm more comfortable writing fluff than smut, but I suppose that means that I just need more practice with smut...right XD?
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading; please feel free to leave me comments and constructive criticism. I truly appreciate all of you who have commented and given kudos along the way; you've kept me writing.


End file.
